


Innuendo

by orxestra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Comfort/Angst, Dark, Dark Character, Dark Magic, Dark Past, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, History, Infidelity, Multi, Mystery, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 134,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orxestra/pseuds/orxestra
Summary: Rosalind Morana is now an officer with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, having previously been a cop—or something like it—in El Salvador. After starting a new life in London, she thinks she's changed and outran her past. But some things never truly leave us.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	1. Cumbia Sobre el Rio

**El Salvador, May 1998**

_ “Lo mataron!” _ The voice cracked through the brick in excitement. “The Dark Lord—at Hogwarts—The Chosen One—he is dead!”

A moment of silence erupted into cheers, fireworks sparking on the tips of wands. The Dark Lord’s terror reigned over more than Europe, his influence was global. Even in tiny El Salvador, where Muggles and wizards lived amongst each other in chaos, extortion, and murder.

“Guess that means it’s time for you to go home, isn’t it?” He handed her a glass of tequila, and they raised them to each other with a smile before downing the liquor.

Rosalind wiped her mouth, enjoying the burning sensation of the liquid before shooting him a knowing look. “I guess so.” She nodded, her curly hair brushing her shoulders and back. “For a while I thought I would never be able to.”

“You miss it?” He leaned against the brick wall, the flickering pyrotechnics reflecting brightly off his thick belt buckle and scuffed cowboy boots. “I know you’re going to miss eating all these pupusas because your dumbass can’t cook.”

Rosalind rolled her eyes, punching her friend in the arm. “I can make the essentials  _ pendejo! _ And I’ve made them before!”

“That time you burnt them doesn’t count,” he said with a snicker. “Especially since not even the stray dogs would eat them— _ puchica vos!” _ He exclaimed as her wand shot out a narrow beam of light, stinging his skin. “What did I tell you about jinxing me?”

“What did I tell you about saying stupid shit?”

It was Ernesto’s turn to roll his eyes. “Always with the same attitude of yours. That fat mouth almost got us killed a few times. How many times have you almost blown our cover?”

Rosalind’s shoulders shrugged innocently. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shoved her head playfully with the palm of his hand. “Don’t forget to owl me when you’re back. Especially when you’re looking for jobs. Americans love it when people travel abroad.”

“We did more good than anything else, didn’t we?” She answered with a laugh. “Of all the things we have done here…from working undercover to doing the cop’s work. It was for the greater good.”

Ernesto poured them another shot of tequila and raised his glass. “To the greater good, and new beginnings.”

_ “Salud.” _

And they drank and danced in celebration with their comrades, celebrating not only their victories, but of the victories all over the globe.

For the last time, Rosalind was enjoying the tropical downpour of her parents’ home country El Salvador. The moist earth, the green landscape, the scent of the rainforest, the flowing river—this has been her home for the last year. She said her goodbyes and informed her parents of her arrival. Although they were adamant she not go to El Salvador in the first place because they knew firsthand how violent it had become, they were happy their daughter was returning home. They had fled their country due to a brutal civil war, and Rosalind returned to join a group who did what they could to better the country’s circumstances. But with the Dark Lord gone, there was no reason for her to stay any longer. His followers would disband or die out, or spend the rest of their lives in prison. For the first time in years, she felt at peace.

With her clothes drenched with the earth’s tears, Rosalind held her breath for the journey ahead, clutching the rusty tin can posing as portkey. The dirt shifted beneath her feet and was replaced with carpet, with the faint scurrying of a tiny body underneath a bed running away from her. 

The tiny human peeked from the covers, staring with identical features to Rosalind’s: the dark caramel brown skin, the frizzy hair, the curious almond shaped eyes.

“Sissy?”

**Hello! I am currently doing editing as I am also writing the (kind of) sequel. My chapter titles are always from songs or movies that have something to do with the chapter, and the quotes in the summary are from the chapter itself. Thank you for stopping by!**

**Next chapter: For You (Intro)**


	2. For You (Intro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All the reason for you to come back."

**Chapter title taken from the HIM song.**

**London, England. Several years after the war.**

Ugly square spectacles rested on a long, crooked nose while his grayed eyes pierced into her soul. He sniffed, one hand shoving the cracked bifocal into its rightful crease, the other hand critiquing the resume in question.

“Now tell me, Ms. Morana,” his wistful voice barely audible over the creak of his chair. “What do you believe makes you qualified for this position? It has been a few years since your last relevant post.”

The corners of Rosalind’s mouth formed a tight smile as she cleared her throat. “I am passionate about serving justice. During my time in Central America I witnessed things beyond my imagination and was constantly in a critical position. It was a high-stress situation that challenged my ethics and skills but ultimately made me a better witch. I am adept at jinxes and hexes, and have seen my fair share of Dark Magic. I am confident I will be a great addition to the Ministry, if hired.”

The decrepit man paused, peering deeper into her eyes. Thin fingers traced his toothbrush mustache as he glanced over her resume once more. “Very well. We will inform you by owl post within the next two days if we believe you are qualified. You may leave.” He motioned to the door, screeching open on command.

“Thank you sir, for taking the time to interview me--”

The gust from the slamming door swept the baby hairs from her face as she swallowed her words. Rosalind sighed in defeat, her heart still palpitating from nervousness. Years of applying at the Ministry and she rarely received a response. The Ministry of Magic had few career openings.

She dropped her arms to her side, catching her fall from the ridiculous stilettos suffocating her toes before making her way to the lift. Purple airplanes glided through iron gates, heading to their marked destinations. Rosalind quickened her pace, her black pencil skirt shortening her stride. A platinum haired young man walked in, lazily sticking his arm out to keep the gate from closing, making no effort to hide the eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Rosalind smiled politely to the man, thanking him as she eyed the odd golden yellow ropes dangling from the ceiling. Before she could finish her sentence, she was thrust backwards into the man who kept the gate open for her.

“Bloody hell!” he cried annoyed. “Haven’t you ever been on a goddamn lift before?”

Rosalind turned around, face flushed, apologizing profusely. “I am so sorry--I didn’t realize that’s what the ropes were for--I didn’t mean to--” She looked upwards to the platinum haired man with pale grey eyes, for a moment connecting with her own.

“You lost or something? You don’t sound like you’re around here,” he said, noticing her American accent.

“I--uhh sorta--I just had a job interview and I’ve never been here before so I’m just trying to find the way out.”

He eyed her oddly. “Are you a Yank?”

“Yes, born and raised there. My family is Salvadorian.”

“They’re what?”

“Salvadorian,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Super small country? Had one of the worst magical civil wars in recent history?”

“Oh. Right.” He continued to eye her, having no clue what she was talking about. “The exit is on level one. Follow the hall until the end and step into the phone booth. It’ll take you back up to London.”

She smiled, acknowledging her gratitude. “Thank you.”

She followed his directions, taking the phone booth to uproot her back into Muggle London. After a brief episode of walking the wrong direction, she made her way to The Leaky Cauldron.

“Morning, Rosalind," the old barman greeted her. “How’d yer interview go?”

“No idea honestly,” she said with a sigh, sitting at her usual stool. “I mean I know I could do the job, the question is if they’ll give me a chance.”

“They’d be nutters to not consider you,” he said between cleaning glassware, handing her a frothing butterbeer. “You’re a smart lass.”

“Thanks, Tom.” She downed her butterbeer in seconds, wiping the droplets from her chin. “I’ll see you for the nightshift.” She flicked a Sickle at the old man, who threw it back at her.

“Keep it. I’ll take it out of your wages.”

Rosalind smiled and rolled her eyes, heading to Diagon Alley. It is a crisp autumn day, the last hints of summer fading into fall. The cobbled street was a ghost town now that Hogwarts was in session again. Rosalind inhaled the elements, taking in the relatively quiet surroundings, eventually finding her way in front of an obnoxiously decorated building, standing at such an acute angle it looked as if it would fall over.

The warm, comforting scent of eucalyptus flooded her nose, rushing memories of her parent’s house. She excitedly looked for the cause of the smell, her face falling as she realized the love potions. It had been years since she had had that comforting at home feeling--something she would never feel again.

“Yearning to try a Thunder Cracker?” a facetious voice asked her. “They’re all the rage right now, but I’d suggest a Rocket Box for a first timer such as yourself.”

Rosalind jumped at the close proximity of the voice. “Oh I’m just looking,” she answered in surprise. “I don’t have any occasion to be celebrating with fireworks at the moment.”

The young man raised his brow. “Nonsense, there is always time for celebration and mischief in life.”

“My whole life is an insane joke so you may be right,” she laughed dryly, taking a look at the one-eared man in front of her.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself mate, cheer up,” he said genuinely. “Nothing a Pepper-Up Potion can’t cure.” 

Rosalind eyed him suspiciously. “You are quite the salesman. I’m sure that charm has gotten you a fair share of things.”

He smiled broadly. “Why thank you madam, I happen to own this quaint shop. Started it with my twin brother some years ago.”

“Oh,” she cried, recognizing the flaming red hair from the _Daily Prophet_. “You’re George Weasley? Infamous Hogwarts dropout?”

George Weasley laughed, slightly abashed. “That I am miss, at your service.” He stood straight, fixing his maroon robe. “Although I like to refer to myself as a young entrepreneur.”

“Right, sorry. That was pretty rude of me,” she laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in your shop before, this is quite impressive magic.

George gave her a short bow. “Thank you. It takes a great witch or wizard to recognize excellence. Can I interest you in a Headless Hat? What about a pygmy puff?”

Rosalind shook her head. “Sorry it’s not in my budget right now. Maybe next time when I have a bigger paycheck.”

“Well don’t take too long to return, I might forget about you,” George joked.

“You’re right, I am pretty unforgettable,” she quipped as she made her way to the exit.

The salesman blurted a blistering laugh. “Ah, a woman with jokes. All the reason for you to come back.”

“We shall see,” she responded with a smile, finishing the short walk to her flat.

The tiny flat looked as bleak as ever; the same dull flooring, the dull grey furniture, the dying plants, and the dusty floors. It was not much but it was all she could afford. London was not cheap. She traced her fingers over the frame of a photograph displaying a young, frizzy-haired Rosalind, her toddler sister, and their middle-aged parents. Their beaming smiles clenched her heart. 

As if on command, a large tawny owl screeched at the window. Rosalind untied the envelope with her scarred hands, petting the bird before its departure. Inside was thick parchment, and a brief note in thin, elegant writing:

_Dear Ms. Morana,_

_After careful consideration we have agreed upon offering you a post with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. Should you accept this offer, respond via owl post promptly. You will begin Monday morning at 8:00 a.m._

_King regards,_

_Faris Gambol_

_Ministry of Magic Research and Hiring Committee_

**Thank you so much for reading! This is still a bit of an introduction before the action kicks up.**

**Next chapter: The Dark Side of the Moon.**


	3. The Dark Side of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fenfir Greyback is dead."

_**Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.** _

**\- Mark Twain**

**Chapter title taken from the legendary Pink Floyd album.**

“The Ministry!”

After throwing a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Rosalind began spinning so rapidly her half empty stomach began to quake. A pale rainbow of colors flew past her, blurring from brown to grey to black. As suddenly as it started it stopped, and she was back in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. 

“Move out of the way, miss, there are more folks coming through!” An agitated wizard bellowed, shoving her out of the fireplace. 

Rosalind caught herself and glanced around gingerly, looking for the lifts. Her gaze followed the pack of gossiping witches with Department of Magical Law Enforcement badges glistening in the glow of the fountain. She grabbed the golden ropes, taking a stand next to a rail-thin wizard who smelled of dragon dung. 

“Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” a cool female voice announced their arrival. “This contains the Auror Office, the Improper Use of Magic Office, the Wizengamot Administration Services, the Administrative Registration Department, Department of Intoxicating Substances, as well as Hit Wizards, Magic Law Enforcement Patrol, Witch Watchers, the Investigation Department, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protected Objects.” 

Rosalind stepped out with the band of gossiping witches, each dispersing into their respective units. At the end of the hallway stood the same decrepit man that had interviewed her, motioning her to come in and handing her a thick stack of papers. 

“Morning, I see you have found your way,” he droned in his monotonous tone. “In this stack are the Ministry’s official handbooks, confidentiality laws, and more. You will be meeting with Miss Granger and Mr. Potter immediately. They will help you become acquainted.” 

Her heart jumped. Was she going to be working with two thirds of the Golden Trio? She shuffled to the Auror Office where several dazzled-looking witches and wizards were pouring over notes and discussing tactics for the numerous ex Death Eaters still at large. At the other end of the room was a handsome door marked _H. Potter,_ where she knocked firmly. 

“Come in,” an authoritative but cheerful voice answered.

Harry Potter’s office was rather modest considering he was the Chosen One: it decorated with flocks of gold and maroon, the colors of Gryffindor House; an animated Golden Snitch flew from corner to corner, impossible to catch; and on his desk sat vibrant photographs of his deceased family and friends: his parents, Sirius Black, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, Fred Weasley, Alastor Moody, and Albus Dumbledore. At the forefront of his collection of photographs he was beaming photo of him next to his fiancee Ginny Weasley. 

Hermione Granger spoke first, her warm voice flooding the grand office. “Good morning Miss Morana,” she extended her hand for her to shake. “I trust you know what we will be speaking about?”

Rosalind stared at the famous duo for a moment, completely unaware of what to say. “No, I don’t actually, I was instructed to come in here. I’m assuming protocol and procedure.” 

“Have a seat,” Harry invited, offering a steaming cup of tea. 

“Well first and foremost, welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” Hermione began with a bright smile. She sounded more astute in person, speaking in a hurried, intellectual breath. “I have looked over your resume and past work and am quite impressed; it is rare to find an individual with both Muggle and magical background, especially in dealing with the law.” Rosalind’s face flushed in flattery. “You were an exceptional student and we contacted your references, who all had great things to say about you.” 

“Sorry about your last job,” Harry cuts in. “It’s a shame being unemployed.”

Rosalind laughs nervously, rubbing her nose to hide her embarrassment. “It’s a lot better than being back home, trust me.” 

“I believe it,” he said in a grim tone. “I have heard nasty rumors of the American government recently. Seems they are in a bit of a panic. “

“They have been for quite some time,” she replied.

“You are a refugee from the States, is that correct?” Hermione asked, scribbling notes.

“Well I wouldn’t call myself a refugee, but I did flee,” she admitted. “My sister is my only family and I didn’t want to see her suffer more than she already had, and I knew that sending her to Hogwarts was the best thing I could do for her.” 

“And what about your best interests?”

She flashed her gritted teeth for a moment, preparing an answer. “Honestly, I have been applying to the Ministry since I moved here so that is the first big step. I have seen an overwhelming amount of injustices...and it never gets better from the outside. I felt at my best and most confident when I was making an impact in my community. There isn’t anything like being in the midst of the action and impacting lives first-hand.” She rubbed her arm nervously, unsure what would be wise to disclose, her scarred hands slightly trembling. “I love being in the middle of it.” 

“That’s great,” Hermione beamed. “Typically people freeze in fight or flight situations.” 

“I used to be like that,” she said in a lowered voice. “But I learned that no action is still a decision you make.” She shrugged, pinching the skin on her arm. “And we can’t have that here. Not in this line of work.” 

Harry nodded. “Excellent. Where do you want to be in the long run? Here in the Ministry?” 

“I used to think I’d make a fair choice for something like the Wizengamot. But I think a Hit Wizard is a better fit for me.” 

“Interesting choice,” Hermione nodded in satisfaction to Harry. “We can certainly help you work your way up to that, especially with your background encountering the Dark Arts. To start, we have placed you with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Department. I believe you will be a great fit there.” 

Rosalind nodded, her heart still thundering in her chest. Hermione spurred directions to head across the hall to meet her supervisor, asking if she had any questions. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t think so. But thank you so much Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, I have been hoping for this--”

“It’s Harry,” said the wizard with a smile. “You can call me Harry.” 

“Call me Hermione,” the Golden Girl smiled. “Anything you need let me know.”

Rosalind smiled meekly. “Thank you.” She turned on her heel to the office across the hall, where a stout and rather wide middle-aged wizard greeted her.

“Oho! What do we have here? New employee, I presume?” he asked cheerfully. 

“Yes sir, I was instructed to meet with you,” she replied, still in her gritted-tooth smile. 

“Good good, I see the Auror’s Department has given you a short introduction.” He waved his wand and a stack of files landed onto her endless pile. “Since this is your first week you will be proofreading reports and taking notes unless otherwise instructed. Mr. Malfoy and Miss Breckenridge will answer any questions you may have. We will inform you if you will be attending any patrols.” Bowen waved his wand again, pushing her into a rickety desk before she had the chance to say a word. 

Rosalind went straight to work, spreading the documents around her desk, deciphering them as best she could. Everyone around her is too busy to notice her, which was a relief. She shivered; the office was large and drafty, made of stone, with windows enchanted to match the weather in real time. Large Galleons sat on the desks, burning and buzzing when an area needed to be patrolled or an incident needed to be checked out. Those were the creation of Hermione Granger and were first used during the reign of Dumbledore’s Army at Hogwarts. Some had animatronic talking owls to remind them of appointments and deadlines, others watches that spurted out messages, and others a magical quill to draft their notes.

"You're the new recruit?" a coy voice behind her asked. 

Rosalind turns to see a tall, willowy woman with auburn hair, talon-like red nails and a wafer thin face. 

"Yes I am,” she answered curtly. 

She pursed her lips, noting her accent. "Ah, so you are American. Thought it was just a rumor.” She drummed her talons on Rosalind’s desk, rolling her eyes over to a man’s body in the corner. “You’re partnered with Malfoy, the little git can’t work with anyone. Maybe you’ll have better luck with his arrogant arse.” Before Rosalind could answer she strode her long legs to another tall, gargantuan woman, making crude gestures to each other. 

_Oh great_ , she thought to herself, thinking she was stuck with a prick. With his back still against the room, she returned to her stack of paperwork, wondering who this Malfoy character was and why no one would work with him. Most of the reports were rather dry and boring, which she assumed was because she was new. Unlike Muggle police reports they were more detailed, including time of Apparition, spells used, and magical creatures involved. Noontime signalled lunch, but the wizard in the corner stopped her at her desk. Rosalind looked up to see the same pale faced handsome man she met in the elevator. 

“Morana, Bowen asked me to take you out on a patrol today. I'm Draco Malfoy, I believe we met the other day.” 

“Yeah we did," she said, digesting his words. "But I'm going on a patrol today? I'm not even done with my reports yet--"

“I didn’t ask if you were done,” Draco said curtly. “We are leaving now, you’ll have time to finish up. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Forest of Dean in the village of Harrow Hill. There seems to be a dispute that turned bloody.” 

“We’re Apparting there, right?” she asked. He nodded, and with a faint pop, the Ministry of Magic disappeared. 

The air chilled her lungs as the quaint village of Harrow Hills appeared: the multicolored cottages dotted the hilly perimeter, almost side by side with its neighbor Drybrook. The leaves were a crisp orange color tinted with a bronze-grey border that crunched beneath their feet, leaving a small trail of footprints. The sound of small animals scurrying about faded into the distance, in the direction of a small cottage so aged the bricks and stones holding it together melded into a flaccid wall. A tall, burly man with a scruffy beard was standing with his arms crossed outside of the home while a young girl sat in the dirt, covered in bruises and dried blood. 

Draco glanced around for Rosalind, who had beat him there. He leaned towards her, whispering quickly. “Let me do most of the talking. I’ll let you talk to them once I’m done. I suggest you let me handle the bloke, he doesn’t look too happy.” She gave him a look of apprehension but agreed. 

He cleared his throat and approached the pair, speaking in a self-assured voice. “Good afternoon sir, I am Officer Malfoy and this is my partner Officer Morana. We received notice of an incident at this address. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” 

The burly man hulked over to Draco, towering a few inches above him, glaring with his dark, beady eyes. “Yes. The neighbors called about my daughter. But I assure you she is fine. There is no reason for you to be here.” 

Rosalind stared at the girl, who could not be more than sixteen years of age. She was behaving oddly, scratching her head and biting her nails excessively, breathing heavily. Her pain was evident, along with her fear of speaking. There were several injuries on her body: lacerations on her arms, bruises on her legs, and puncture wounds. 

“Hello,” she said gently, kneeling in front of her. “My name is Rosalind. I have been sent here to help you. Are you alright?”

The girl’s eyes widened, her lips puckering and trembling as she shook her head. “I wish I could tell you but I promised I wouldn’t say a word," she whispered. 

“It’s alright, I promise. No one here is going to hurt you,” she replied in a kind voice. “If anyone has hurt you, it is my job to find them. I am here to help.” The girl attempted to cover her bruises upon seeing Rosalind spot them. “How did this happen to you?” 

The girl smiled nervously, her head jerking over to her father, who was having a heated argument with Malfoy. “It happened at dawn,” she began quickly. “I am always up early to fetch water from the lake and begin cooking breakfast for my father. I heard strange noises coming from the forest but I thought nothing of it. As soon as I filled my pail something attacked me, something big and vicious. I have no idea what it could have been but my father heard my screams and attempted to Stun it but missed. The animal let go and left me bleeding and my father was furious, I have never seen him so upset...he insists I’ll be okay but I don’t feel like myself at all...” She began to weep, scratching the side of her head. “I feel like there is something inside me that wants to come out and it’s violent. I don’t know what to do.” Her sunken eyes were slightly yellow, a tear streaming down her cheek. 

“Why aren’t you in school?” she asked, observing her wounds. 

“I’m homeschooled,” she said, glancing down in shame. “My father likes me at home.”

“Where were you hurt? I need to examine your injuries, then we can identify what attacked you.” The young girl readily complied, revealing a large gash with deep puncture wounds marked with silver edges. Rosalind’s heart began to panic. She quickly pulled out a small bottle of essence of dittany, instructing the girl not to move. “This is probably going to hurt, but I promise you this is for your own good,” she warned. She sprinkled the substance over the wounds as the girl screamed, causing her father to snap his head in their direction. 

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing to my daughter?” he roared, ready to pounce on her. Rosalind flicked her wand at him with a Sticky-Foot Curse. “What are you—you can’t do this to me! What did you do to my daughter?” 

Draco ran with his face fuming to Rosalind. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Morana? I told you let me handle it!”

“And you were doing a terrible job not controlling the situation,” she retorted. “This girl needs to be taken to St. Mungo’s now.” 

“Why? He said she was attacked by an animal and she’s fine—“

Rosalind ignored him, turning to the man, who was still fidgeting to free his legs. “Mr. Holmes, your daughter here has been bitten by a werewolf. I have added a powder that will help heal the wound but she needs medical attention right away. This is extremely urgent and I suggest that you comply with what we say unless you want to be charged with obstruction of justice.” 

The girl began crying and Mr. Holmes' face turned pale. “What..? No that's impossible—Fenfir Greyback is dead and werewolves haven’t been seen since the war!” His eyes filled with tears as Rosalind felt a small pang of regret for cursing him. 

“I’ll notify the Ministry. St. Mungo’s are on their way,” was all Malfoy was able to say. 

Moments later, a gaggle of wizards in lime green robes assembled themselves around Mr. Holmes and his frightened daughter. Rosalind tried to calm her, assuring her that she would be well taken care of and they will get to the bottom of this. Her father meanwhile ravaged through the group of healers, crying to them. “Please help her,” he pleaded. “My wife is gone and she is all I have. I can’t stand to see her hurt—“ 

The Head Healer offered his sympathies to the man. “We will do our best sir, and I attest that she is in good hands. We have only the best at St. Mungo’s.” They conjured a stretcher to carry her to a bright yellow light resembling a portal, where the hospital could be seen at the other side, where the healers, the stretcher, and Mr. Holmes vanished upon stepping through. 

Malfoy made his way to a stump, resting himself with a puzzled look on his face as Rosalind jotted down her notes, waiting for him to speak. “You did a good job there Morana,” he finally said. “I’m impressed.” 

Rosalind tucked her parchment into her cloak. “Thanks. I’m sure you would’ve done the same thing.” 

“Yeah, totally,” he replied absentmindedly. 

“Shall we head back?” Rosalind interrupted his train of thought. 

“Not yet. Let’s stay until sunset, scan the perimeter, and head back. Don’t stray too far from me, if something happens to you we’re both dead. Hopefully there are signs of werewolves somewhere.” 

Rosalind nodded in agreement as they searched the heavily wooded area for any signs of abnormal animal life. The sun’s crimson rays were slowly fading into the horizon, the full moon rising steadily, illuminating beautiful white light into the shadows. The forest was still: no wind, no rustling of branches, no animals or even birds in sight. 

“Whatever was here scared everything away and is already on the move,” she said slowly. “We might find something deeper in the woods but that will be difficult.” 

“Our orders were to investigate the indent which we have, nothing more. We’ll let Bowen know we did not see any direct signs of werewolves in the area and that’s it.” His confidence had returned. “We’re done here. Ready to head back?” 

“Ready when you are.” 

With a faint pop, they reappeared at the Ministry. A concerned Bowen staggered to them with a look of excitement and bewilderment. “I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it back unharmed!” he exclaimed in a fatherly tone. “St. Mungo’s notified me of the attack--werewolves on the prowl, eh? Exciting first day is it not?” he chuckled at Rosalind, nudging her ribs. 

“A bit, yeah. I’m expecting the same tomorrow,” she responded with a laugh as Malfoy handed him their reports. 

Bowen’s face glimmered. “Excellent! We have been looking for a steady partner for Mr. Malfoy here for quite some time, at it appears we have found him a permanent companion!” He pulled Draco into a tight, one-armed hug. “Hear that, Draco? Miss Morana’s going to be your partner from now on. Treat her like the lady she is and we shan’t have any more problems.” 

Draco’s eyes shifted over to a smiling Rosalind, busy thanking Bowen for the opportunity to work for him, her smile illuminating the room. 

“So,” she said after Bowen left. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. Nice job today.” Their eyes locked for a brief moment, a silent millisecond of understanding forming between them before they departed for the evening. 

**What’s going on with the werewolf attacks and who’s behind them?**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

**Next chapter: Under Pressure.**


	4. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't tell you this was a meeting for the Order?"

**Chapter title taken from the Queen song with David Bowie.**

The next several weeks were nowhere near as eventful as the first. The Malfoy character kept a guarded distance from Rosalind, only speaking to her if he absolutely needed to. 

It was the end of the day on Friday, and Rosalind was caught in the after work rush by the lifts, wedged between a smelly wizard and a tall woman whose armpit smelled of warm cabbage. At the Atrium she spotted Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley talking to a tall man she recognized to be the Minister of Magic. She smiled politely at them; they had been cordial with her, but had only spoken a handful of times. 

“Oh there she is!” Hermione waved to her excitedly. Rosalind stopped in her tracks, eyebrows knitting into a thread. The Golden Girl beckoned her to come over to them, dragging her by the elbow.

“Hi Rosalind, how are you doing?” She asked with a friendly smile. Before she could answer she turns to the Minister. “Kingsley, this is the witch I was telling you about. She’s brand new and she’s still being broken in but she is absolutely brilliant. She successfully identified a werewolf bite and healed the victim on her first day. She has also spent time working abroad.” She smiled, introducing the pair. “This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister."

Rosalind’s mouth scrunched into an uncomfortable, awkward smile. “So nice to meet you,” she creaked.

The imposing man chuckled and spoke in a slow, booming voice. “Nice to meet you as well, Miss Morana. Hermione here appears to be quite impressed with you.” Rosalind’s face burned red as she tucked a curl behind her ear. “I presume you have met Harry and Ron?” She nodded, having met Ron a few days prior. “We have a monthly dinner the Burrow--the Weasley home and would like you to join us tonight at seven o’clock.” 

“Really?” she blurted. “Of all people? Tonight?” 

“Yes you,” the Minister smiled. “We have heard good things about you.” 

“Thank you,” she muttered. “I would love to.” 

“Great,” Hermione said as they begin to walk away. “Remember, seven o’clock tonight, Ottery St. Catchpole!” She waved goodbye, leaving a dumbstruck Rosalind alone.

***

At seven o’clock on the dot, Rosalind Apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole, a small Muggle and wizarding village nestled between two valleys, surrounded by endless acres of green land. Far off to the left a tall, rickety house leaned with multiple chimneys, a small front garden, and a modest sign reading “THE BURROW.” Rosalind nervously tapped on the door, clearing her throat, unsure of what was to come next. 

A plump, red-headed woman answered the door, her kind brown eyes greeting her. “Hello there!” she said cheerfully. “You must be Rosalind! Come in, come in, and make yourself at home.” She ushered her inside, Rosalind breath taken by the abundance of magic everywhere: pots, pans, and dishes whirring, a clock with every member of the Weasley family on every hand, tiny garden gnomes trying to make their way through the house but stopping short with an electric shock from the anti-gnome devices. 

“Dinner is just about ready!” Mrs. Weasley said, beckoning Rosalind near the head of the table. “There you go, you can have a seat by Hermione and Ginny if you’d like.” A chair magically sweeps itself in front of her, pushing her into the table. 

“Oh hello, so glad you could make it,” Hermione greeted. “Almost everyone is here.” 

“What do you mean? This looks like a full house,” she said, noting the dozen wizards bustling around. 

“The rest of the Order should be here soon, they’re always a bit late.” Upon seeing Rosalind’s perplexed face she added, “oh I didn’t tell you this was going to be a meeting for the Order?”

“Not at all,” Rosalind replied. “I was just told to come here at seven for dinner.”

“Oh, right.” Hermione laughed. “I can’t believe I forgot to mention that. This is Ginny by the way, Harry’s fiancée.” She gestured to the pretty redhead she was sitting next to who had the same warm brown eyes as her mother. 

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. “I’ve heard good things about you.”

“Oh I’m sure it’s nothing,” she responded. “I’ve heard you’re an outstanding Quidditch player, how are the Harpies doing?” 

“We’re doing pretty alright, our Keeper’s been out a while,” she said as she sipped her tea. “Took a bad Bludger to the head, woke up severely concussed. But hey, that’s Quidditch for you.” 

Rosalind nodded politely as more wizards made their way through the already cramped kitchen, a lanky ginger-haired young man making his way to the seat directly in front of them. He screeched his chair loudly, banging his elbow on the table. He glanced up, noticing the new face in their midst, giving the stranger a crooked smile. 

“Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?” George Weasley said to Rosalind.

Her heart skipped a beat. She blushed, her face burning almost as bright as George’s hair. “You caught me,” she said with a shrug in mock-defeat.

George grinned. “I knew you’d come back to me.” 

Ginny’s back jerked from her chair with a raised eyebrow. “You two know each other?” 

“We’re the best of mates,” George said seriously. “Came into my shop the other day and swindled some free goods out of me. I was so impressed I asked her out on a date then and there.” 

“What?” Rosalind sputtered. “No that never--”

“Oh pardon me, where are my manners?” He conjured a red rose from thin air, handing it to her. “Let me take you out on date, next Friday night?” He asked gently. 

Rosalind’s face burned so hot she was sure the flower would burst into flame. She glanced at Hermione and Ginny who looked equally as shocked. 

“I umm--yeah, why not?” She responded. “So I can get more free goods by the end of the night.” Her heart was pulsing through her chest. She couldn't believe George would be so bold to ask her out in front of his sister and friend. 

A wave of silence flowed throughout the room, bringing all to a standstill. Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived, his presence spilling through the audience like water. He sat at the head of the table, next to Arthur Weasley. The table had been magicked to accommodate all the guests and plates of food. The scents of honey-cured ham, Yorkshire pudding, bread rolls, pumpkin pie and more adorned the table. 

“Alright everyone,” Molly Weasley said with a hot plate of pulled-pork sandwiches in her hands. “Dig in!” 

With no idea where to start, Rosalind grabbed a sample of everything, wolfing down the food and moaning in delight. It had been ages since she had had a home cooked meal she hadn't made herself. She was eating plate after plate, oblivious to the stares.

“Blimey mate,” George said surprised. “Do you breathe between bites?” 

With a turkey leg halfway in her mouth, Rosalind swallows a large chunk of meat. “Sorry,” she replied. “I got a little carried away.” She wiped her mouth, setting down the half eaten leg. 

Ginny laughs. “It’s alright, Mum likes it when people go for seconds. It makes her happy.” She nudged her ribs. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Rosalind smiles as Kingsley stood, drawing the room into complete silence again. “Good evening. Tonight’s meeting will be dealing with various issues at the Ministry. We also have a potential new member with us tonight, a new employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Miss Morana is an American citizen and has been trained in the Dark Arts, having survived the aftermath of two devastating wizarding wars. I am pleased with the work she has been contributing to the Ministry this week and what she has discovered.“ He paused, all eyes in the room shifting to her. “Unfortunately it has been confirmed that werewolves have been attacking in the area.” Muttered whispers floated throughout the room in astonishment. “A few weeks ago Rosalind was able to successfully identify a werewolf bite, apply the proper potion to help heal the wound and was able to send the victim to St. Mungo’s before she transformed. We have also received notice of two other victims in the last several days. Normally I would have the Aurors take care of this but since we have no leads or motives, I think it’s best the Order is informed.” The atmosphere grows tense, but Shacklebolt presses on. “With that being said, I’d like to introduce to you all Rosalind Morana.” 

Polite golf clapping ensued, freezing her to her seat. “Hello,” she said with a wave. “I'm Rosalind, I was born and raised in the United States. I haven’t been working at the Ministry for very long but as the Minister mentioned, I do have a background with experiencing the Dark Arts. My parents are from El Salvador, actually having fled there when they were teenagers to the United States during the civil war. Once I was of age I lived there for about a year, I was part of a resistance group you can call it.” She laughed dryly. “We did our best to help the people down there but because of that and being undercover, there was a lot of Dark Magic I encountered.” She glanced around the room, eagerly listening to her words. “Which has helped me here working the with Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” She looked to the Minister, who nodded. 

“So,” continues Kingsley. “How would you like to join the Order of the Phoenix?”

She laughed in surprise. “I’d love to.”

Kingsley smiled. “Welcome to the Order, Miss Morana.” 

Hands began to clap on her back, and congratulations were given as she was formally introduced to everyone. Fleur Delacour, absolutely breathtaking and her husband Bill equally as handsome, and their daughter Victoire, Fleur’s spitting image. The Order consisted mostly of older witches and wizards including Hogwarts professors not in attendance. After dinner the rally began to leave, with Rosalind staying behind to help clean up. 

“So what happens now?” she asked Hermione who was putting chairs away. 

“Nothing really, that was more of a formality,” she replied matter-of-factly. “If anything serious happens and your Galleon buzzes you have to answer it, especially if someone sends a Patronous. Speaking of which,” she fumbled through her bag and handed her a large gold coin. “Here is your Galleon. Keep it safe.”

“So, Rosalind,” a curious Arthur Weasley creeped up behind her. “You are an American, is that correct?” She nodded. “How are the Muggles over there? Are they any different than here?” 

She laughed as Ron rolled his eyes. “Leave her alone Dad, she probably already feels weird enough as it is.” 

“No it’s fine,” she replied with another laugh. “They’re um, they’re interesting. It’s such a big country so when traveling from state to state it’s hard to believe you’re still in the U.S.”

“Did you go to Muggle school growing up?”

“For a bit, yeah. It wasn’t necessarily a boarding school like Hogwarts, I could come home on the weekends.” 

“How are the Muggles different than here?” Arthur pressed.

“It depends where you are. Some are a bit racist or narrow-minded. In general they are fairly friendly and different regions also have different accents. A Boston or New York accent sounds much different than a southern or west coast accent, for example.” 

“Ah,” Arthur nods his head. “I have heard them in their films before. What is this racism you mentioned?” 

“Some Muggles discriminate by race or ethnicity in a similar way wizards do by blood,” Rosalind explained to Arthur and Ron’s confused expressions. “Some places are better than others.” 

"Fascinating,” Arthur Weasley continued. “Such interesting creatures, Muggles. Vastly misunderstood.”

“What are you then if you don’t mind me asking?” Ron asked curiously. Hermione swatted him on the head with a dirty plate telling him to have more tact.

“I’m Salvadorian. It’s a tiny country in Central America. Like many Salvadorians I'm a mestiza, meaning I'm half indigenous and half European. My grandparents on both sides were Mayan and spoke one of the many dialects."

"Are you really?” Hermione asked, impressed. “The Mayans were some of the most advanced ancient wizards in history, they were incredibly ahead of their time.” 

“Yeah they were,” Rosalind said proudly. “My great-grandparents on both sides were full Mayan.”

“Wicked,” Ron added. “Does that mean you’re not Muggleborn?”

“I’m not, I’m a Pureblood. A lot of our family history has been lost though, so I don't know any of the ancient magic.” She added to the stack of dirty dishes flying themselves to the sink as they began to wash themselves. 

A loud crash echoed through from the living room, along with loud groans. “Oh no,” Hermione sighed, “I think little Victoire has meddled with some old china again. Mrs. Weasley is going to be furious.” 

The others make their way into the living room as Rosalind took that as her cue to leave once she saw Molly Weasley’s nostrils flare angrily. She grabbed her cloak and headed to the garden, where George was skipping stones into the pond. 

“Ahh,” he said as he skipped one clear to the other side. “Too much ruckus for you?” 

“Sort of, your niece broke something and your mom looks furious.”

“Yeah, she does that. Looks like a dragon when she’s agitated.” He threw one last rock and shifted his torso towards her. “Thank Merlin I’m not the one causing trouble anymore.” He wiped his hands on his sweater, getting rid of the murky swampy residue. “So what can I do you for, are you already running off home?”

“No not yet,” Rosalind replied. Her hands began to sweat the closer he stood to her. “Probably soon though, I’m sure you’re all tired of having people over.”

“Us? Nonsense,” George grinned. “That house is never empty. We’d be much more upset if no one was over to visit.” He sighed, taking a good look at his childhood home. “Sometimes I miss living with my folks, it gets lonely living all the way in Diagon Alley.” He mused to himself for a second then snapped back into a cheery tone. “Anyways, don’t we have a date next Friday?” 

Rosalind looked down at her feet timidly and agreed, still holding her rose. “That is what you called it.” She looked into his soft brown eyes, noticing the abundance of freckles on his nose. 

George ogled her, grinning from ear to ear hole. “You are correct, madam.” Their eyes connected, taking in each other’s presence for the first time: her dark brown skin, trails of faint scars on her arms, long, thick curly hair, her almond shaped eyes and full lips; his wide toothy grin, freckled nose, the slight aroma of fresh baked cookies. It was as if no one else was close by; just them in a perfect moment. 

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing next weekend,” she said softly. 

“Of course not, a true gentleman doesn’t reveal his secrets,” he said with a flair of faux-French accent. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Fine,” she huffed at him, twiddling with her rose. “I guess you win this time. Thank you for the flower by the way, that was very nice of you.” 

George threw his head back and beamed. “You’re quite welcome.” 

He grinned at her, peering into her eyes and making Rosalind so nervous her face begins to redden again. “I should be going, I have lots of umm…reading to do,” she said, taking a step away from him. “I’ll see you around?” 

“Sooner than you’d think.” 

She smiled again, stopping by inside to say goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys and members of the Order before Apparating back to her living room. She splattered herself on her couch, strangely flustered. For the first time in her life she felt relaxed, yet excited; for once not stressed about her situation. Things were finally looking up. An odd giddy feeling bubbled inside her stomach and it hit her--she was happy. With a full smile on her face she transfigured a ceramic bowl into a vase, dropping her flower gently into its new home. 

**So what’d you think about George’s second appearance? I think he is quite the charmer. The next chapter is a bit longer, with Draco and Rosalind getting to know each other more.**

**Next chapter: Cheers (Drink to That).**


	5. Cheers (Drink to That)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're challenging me to a drinking game?"

**Song title taken from the 2010 Rihanna song.**

Dew drops twinkled in the sunlight, scurrying to the bottom of the blades of grass to keep them from evaporating into the air. The sun was rising calmly, creeping into the crevices and flooding the earth with warm radiation. The clock chimed, awakening a still sleeping Rosalind from a peaceful dream. She rolled out of bed, magicking her kitchen utensils to scrap together an avocado toast to go while she jumped in the shower and threw on her clothes. 

“The Ministry!” she walked into the bright green flames, the room spinning into darkness before transforming into the Atrium. She briskly walked to her department, catching a snippet of Breckenridge’s conversation before greeting Draco. 

“Good morning,” she said as he sits down. “How was your weekend?”

“Lovely,” Malfoy answered in a bitter tone. “My father’s hearing has been continued and his odds of being let out of Azkaban are looking slim.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sympathetically. As angry as he looked, his eyes appeared distant and sad.

“I don’t need anyone’s sympathies, thanks. He did some foul things to end up in there.”

“At least you have your parents,” she quipped. “Some of us aren’t fortunate enough to have them anymore.” Her torso shifted into the opposite direction completely ignoring him. Draco’s face softened but he remained silent. He learned from a young age to keep a cold, complacent face at all times, lest others would ask questions. 

They worked through their lunch hour silently, taking occasional glances at each other. Draco headed to the cafe during their break, his mind still on his mother. He no longer lived at the Manor but visited his mother frequently. After all these years she was still distraught from the war, having lost her sister, brother-in-law, friends, and husband. As much as he loved her he couldn't bear to see her upset but at this point was unsure how to help her. She didn't want to talk, she didn't want to go out, and hardly ate. She was losing herself in misery. 

“The usual, Meredith,” Draco said to the little witch at the café. “Grab me a biscuit as well.” The old woman smiled at him, and he walked back to his desk, dropping the biscuit onto his partner’s desk.

“What’s this for?” 

“Erm—peace offering. I realized I haven’t been too nice to you,” he said honestly.

“Oh,” she perked up, splitting the dessert in half. “I was starting to think you didn’t know you’re an asshole.” She offered him the bigger piece.

Draco almost laughed. “I’m normally not. Just been under a lot of stress is all.” He chewed slowly, enjoying the gooey chocolate chips melting into his mouth. “How long have you been living here for?” 

“I don’t know, maybe a few years now? I lost track.” She was engulfing her sandwich. “I normally don’t stay anywhere too long. What about you?”

“My whole life. It’s been alright I suppose, but it’d be nice to get out a bit more often.”

“Why haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know, actually. Guess I don’t know where to start. I’ve heard the States are pretty nice this time of year,” he added trying to make conversation. 

“It depends where you go. New England is beautiful right now and so is the south, but if you go where I’m from you’ll burn yourself to death,” she said with a smirk, taking a jab at his pale skin.

“Making fun of my fair complexion I see,” he answered with a smile. “I can handle anything.” 

“Oh yeah?” Rosalind challenged. “You can handle 120 degree weather, with your privileged alabaster skin that has hardly seen the light of day?”

“One hundred twenty? Where the bloody hell do you come from, Hell?” he blustered. 

Rosalind gave him a devilish grin, her soup spoon dangling from her mouth. “That’s exactly where I’m from.”

Draco accidentally snorted out a laugh, along with a genuine smile. “I see why you left then.”

She finished her soup, packing away the leftovers. “So what’s with the change in attitude?” 

“Bowen said we’re partners, so we have to like each other,” he responded a tad harshly. 

“Did you not like your previous partners?” 

“Erm...I didn’t necessarily dislike them. It just wasn’t working out.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I didn’t like their attitude or they were trying too hard to be close to me,” he responded slowly.

“Ah, you get annoyed easily and don’t like to be close to anyone, got it,” she said with a laugh. “Typical man.”

”Typical man my arse,” he retorted. “I’ve been through quite a few things few would understand.” 

“Yeah? So have I.” She stared him dead in the eyes. It was not a competition, or a question, but a statement of understanding. “Most days I wonder how I ended up here of all places.” 

Draco nodded, ever so slightly. “I could say the same.” He cleared his throat as a bundle or reports flew onto his desk along with a purple inter departmental memo, hovering in front of his face to be opened. He hastily read the note and scribbled his reply, watching it fly away. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking through their new heap of notes. “Have there been more attacks?”

“I’m not sure. It looks like something has been raiding villages, but it’s not there to kill. No one’s been harmed.” They thumbed through several photographs depicting households with countless items overturned, ripped apart, and broken. Rosalind looked over Draco’s shoulder, barely being able to see over him. He smelled of soapy peppermint, one of her favorite scents.

“So is that a scare tactic or is it looking for something?”

“What would a werewolf be looking for?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, this could be something completely different,” she answered in a rather know-it-all fashion.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Maybe. Bowen wants us to interview the Squib from the other day, she’s finally awoken since being in St. Mungo’s.” Rosalind nodded, grabbing her cloak and waiting for Malfoy to lead the way. 

The hospital was enormous: stressed Healers in lime green robes scurried about to different wards with their trainees, notes and quills in hand. Draco led them to the first floor for creature-induced injuries, introducing himself to the Healer-in-Charge, Hippocrates Smethwyck. 

“Healer Smethwyck,” he said confidently. “I am Officer Malfoy, and this is my partner Officer Morana. We have been sent here by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to speak with one of your patients, Adriana Holmes.” He presented his badge when the Healer gave him a questioning look, who then appeared convinced.

“Ah yes, Miss Holmes. She has awoken from her shock-induced coma.” He began to walk them to a small white room where the young girl has been resting. “Be rather careful, she is still dazed from the potions we have been giving her.” They nodded, slipping into the room.

At the far side of the blank room laid the same girl they saved not long ago, yet she looked much different--her hair was matted into knots, the bags under her eyes a deep purple, and her nails a sickening, dirty yellow, resembling claws. She recognized the pair and attempted to sit up, breaking into a small smile.

“Hello Adriana,” Rosalind said gently. “How are you feeling?” 

She lifted her arms where strings of magic were monitoring her heart rate and checking her blood. “I’m being taken care of so not bad I suppose.” She grimaced as she tried to get comfortable. “I didn’t realize I was asleep for so long.”

Draco, ever impatient tried to cut to the chase. “Adriana, do you know who attacked you?” Rosalind shot him a look of annoyance, miffed by his lack of discretion.

The girl looked surprised. “No, no I don’t. All I know is that some animal attacked me and that turned out to be a werewolf. I didn’t see anyone.”

“Do you recall seeing anyone behaving oddly, or having conversations with strangers prior to being hurt?” he continued.

Adriana pondered for a moment. “Well now that you mention it…sort of. I did see a young woman around a lot that I ran into at the market but we didn’t talk much. She was probably around your age, maybe a little older.”

“What did she say to you?” Malfoy pressed. “What did she look like?”

“I—I don’t really remember.” She squinted, trying to prod her memory. “She had long curly hair tied in a bow, it was really pretty. She didn’t say her name but asked if I lived nearby and with who. But she wouldn’t answer any of my questions.”

“And did you tell her?”

“Well yes, I thought she was being nice. But I never saw her again after that.”

Malfoy raked his hand through his hair, contemplating what to say, Rosalind taking the opportunity to speak. “Thank you for this information Adriana,” she said smoothly. “Hopefully we can find out soon who is behind this.” She observed new marks on her body that appeared self-inflicted. “How are you holding up, honestly?” she lowered her voice, glancing over at Draco who was scribbling notes.

“Terrible,” Adrianna admitted with a sad look on her face. “I felt like I had no control of my body, but the Healers gave me a Wolfsbane Potion that calmed me down and put me to sleep. But it’s so painful…” She trailed off, a tear glistening down her cheek. “They told me that I’ll likely not transform a lot unless I’m real angry or force it…but if I wasn’t brought here the time that I was I would have probably killed my dad and gotten lost somewhere.” She glanced her sorrowful eyes to Rosalind’s. “Thank you, so very much.”

Rosalind smiled. “No problem. If you ever need to talk or remember anything else, just shoot me an owl, okay?” She patted her arm and looked over to Draco, who was speaking with the Head Healer.

They walked to the tea room on the top floor near the gift shop. Draco looked deep in thought so Rosalind ordered two cups of black tea and set one down in front of him. “You do like tea don’t you? Or is that just an English stereotype?” 

He gave her a stiff smile and plopped two lumps of sugar into his cup, letting the spoon stir itself. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” He fiddled through his notes, stumped. “She hardly said anything. She was practically useless.” 

“You would probably have a hard time disclosing information yourself if someone came up to you in such a rude way!” Rosalind glared at him. “I mean, you do realize you were talking to a traumatized girl right? She is a victim.”

“But what if she’s not? What if she was in on something?” Draco retortd, stung that she raised her voice. “Maybe she doesn’t remember everything.”

“You think she volunteered to be bitten by a werewolf? Why would anyone do that?” 

“Do you think it’s a coincidence she’s not in school right now? She’s not exactly homeschooled.” He shoved a document to Rosalind’s side of the table. “She’s a Squib. She has never shown an ounce of magical ability in her life. Being a werewolf would give her the chance to be part of something from the wizarding world.”

Rosalind examined the document unconvinced. “That’s a possibility, but what would their goal be? Voldemort’s gone, no other wizard has taken his place so what’s the motive?”

“An army of former Squibs?” Draco suggested half-jokingly. 

“I don’t know,” she pondered. “I don’t think we should treat her any differently, but we have to keep all options open.” Draco relaxed, glad that she wasn’t tossing his suggestions out the window. “But I do think we should do more research, I have a feeling all these little occurrences lately are connected.”

“I think so too. We should head to the library after work. I’ll show you where it is. We should be heading back soon, see what else there is for us to do,” he responded, returning to his business-like tone.

As they proceed to the exit, she hesitated to ask Malfoy a question that had been lingering in the back of her head. “How did you start working here, if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked as innocently as she could. “I mean, from your background and all.”

Draco’s lips pursed, and he stopped in his tracks. “I never thought I'd end up here, honestly,” he answered slowly. “I was forced to become a Death Eater while I was at Hogwarts the summer before my sixth year. My mother was against it. I was lucky I was never tried by the Wizengamot or sent to the dementors...” he paused, reminiscing about his school days. “It was actually Potter and Granger that got me off, they insisted that I’m not a bad person. My mother and I were able to help Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts but by then damage had been done. Our name was ruined." His jaw clenched, as if he was missing a former part of his life. “I helped imprison several former Death Eaters and had information the Ministry found useful. I was slowly able to work my way into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I know it's an odd career choice but I find it strangely intriguing." 

Rosalind nodded as if she were listening to a pleasant story. “Oh that’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be.” She almost laughed, Draco raising his brow. “You never were the bad guy after all.”

He gave her an inquiring look. “What’s your story then? Bowen mentioned something about Dark Arts training—“

“I never joined a Dark Wizard or anything if that’s what you mean,” she replied defensively, her face somber. “I was part of something much different.” Draco stayed quiet waiting for her to finish, but she never did. “It's a long story, and one I don't think anyone know.” Her eyes drifted to the floor and she did not speak until they were back at the Ministry.

By the time they returned to their department it is almost the end of their shift. Draco and Rosalind handed their paperwork to Bowen and headed to the library, deep within the Ministry.

The golden grilles closed slowly, descending ominously. A cold draft breezed through them sending shivers down their spines. With a faint thud, they landed in front of the library. The cool female voice informed them of their location and that it will be closing soon.

“Looks like we’ve got to get moving,” Draco said. “Grab whatever you think is useful and I’ll check it out under my name.” Rosalind silently agreed as they split up in the enormous library.

The Ministry library was absolutely breathtaking: it had hundred foot domed cathedral ceilings, elaborate artwork on every curve and corner, towering bookshelves on every subject imaginable, and large windows that flooded sunlight into the room. It was hauntingly beautiful. 

“You ready or are you going to keep ogling?” Draco’s voice broke the blissful silence, his arm full of dusty books. He handed her the stack she wanted and they once again found themselves inside the lifts.

“Thanks for the books,” she said quietly, unsure what to say.

“Don’t mention it,” Draco responded curtly. “You need help? You look like you’re about to topple over.”

Rosalind shot him a dirty look. “No thank you sir, I am fine,” she retorted in a half-amused tone. “I’m stronger than I look.” 

“Right,” he smiled. “You look downright intimidating.”

She grinned. “Glad you finally noticed.” 

The lift stopped at the atrium and Draco felt an odd sensation coming over him; he felt compelled to speak up or he would miss an opportunity. As Rosalind stepped out of the lift to the Floo hallway he stopped her. “What are your plans for the night?” he asked casually.

She looked back at him, surprised he was continuing the conversation. “Oh you know,” she lifted the books, “exciting night of reading ahead of me. What about you?”

“Same,” he replied, avoiding her gaze. “You’re welcome to come and research with me if you’d like. You know, to get a better understanding of this case.”

She eyed him, but nodded. “Sure. That sounds like a good idea.”

Taken slightly aback, Draco led the way. They squeezed into the phone booth that led them to Muggle London and proceeded to the large town of Cokeworth, a city with a dirty littered river and dusty, greying houses. A signpost marked Spinner’s End was at the front of the street and they walked to the brick house whose number had faded away. Draco tapped his wand on the door knob and the door swung open, revealing a dark, enclosed two-story house with threadbare furniture, candle-lit lamps hanging from the ceiling, and walls lined with books. 

“It’s not much,” Draco said as he quickly whisked away some potentially embarrassing items. “But it works.” Rosalind set the books down at the center table, admiring the library that Draco had in his home. 

Draco mumbled for her to make herself at home as he set off to his kitchen, suddenly realizing how awkward this could be. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had company over, let alone a woman. He asked if she was hungry to which she replied of course so he conjured some sandwiches and hot chocolate. 

They ate rather quietly and began to read. Once she relaxed Rosalind took her shoes off and had her feet on the couch, book propped up on her knees. “There’s so much to read about. Don’t you think we should look into Muggle attacks as well?” 

Draco gave her a look of apprehension. “Why should we care about what happens to Muggles?” 

“What will happen if they are attacked by werewolves or other magical creatures? Someone is bound to be smart enough to piece everything together, and that could end up violating the Statute of Secrecy,” she replied in a rather smart tone. 

Draco sighed. “I don’t know. I see your point. Maybe we’ll ask Bowen about it.” He snapped his books shut and lay down on the opposite couch. “I’m beat. I don’t think I can read anymore.” He ran his fingers through his hair in disappointment. She had been there for a couple of hours and the silence was comforting.

“What now then?” Rosalind asked as she shoved a book onto the floor in frustration.

“Don’t know, we’ll try again tomorrow.” Draco shrugged and walked back into his kitchen. “I need a drink. Want anything?”

“Sure,” Rosalind sat up. “You got anything else besides hot chocolate?”

Draco rummaged through his fridge, yelling over the counter. “Uhh…you like fruit? I’ve got some nice elf-made wine in the cellar too.”

“Yeah that sounds good. You got a deck of cards anywhere?”

Draco bumped his head on his fridge. “Cards? What for?”

“You ever played King’s Cup? I need to take my mind off of work.”

He rubbed his head and walked back into the living room with a tray of fruit. “No what the bloody hell is that?” 

“It’s a drinking game,” Rosalind replied simply. “Although we’ll need more than just wine…beer would probably be a good idea. If we get anything harder than that we might pass out.” 

“You’re challenging me to a drinking game?” Draco laughed at her fatuous idea. “You sure about that?”

“Only if you’re up for it,” she smiled. “I understand if you can’t handle it.”

Draco cocked his eyebrow and gawked his pale grey eyes at her. “Oh, you’re joking.” He smiled genuinely for the first time in months. “Alright then. Let’s see what you can do.”

“Cool!” she stood up excitedly. “I haven’t been on a beer run since I was in school,” she said mostly to herself while putting on her boots. “Do you have anything in particular that you want? I personally like tequila but that isn’t always the best drink to mix with.”

“I didn’t know you were such an alcoholic,” Draco said with an inoffensive sneer. 

“I didn’t know you were such a pussy,” she said so nonchalantly Draco almost didn’t catch her smile.

“What did you just say to me?” Her remark caught him completely off guard. She smiled at him and shrugged, heading for the door.

The walked outside into the darkness, the only light peering from the blurry street lamps. A small and empty liquor store was at the next street over, where they decided their destination was. They bought butterbeer, firewhisky and some Muggle drinks and headed back, drinks already opened.

“It probably isn’t a good idea to drink on a Monday night before work is it?” Rosalind asked as she chugged her first beer. “It’s downright unprofessional.”

Draco popped the cap off a butterbeer and took a large sip. “Yeah, but how often do you drink? I don’t remember the last time I got drunk.”

“Neither do I,” she answered honestly. “I used to drink a lot but it made me miserable and fat. Besides, I’ve been wanting to celebrate having a steady job but I have no one to celebrate with.” 

“I know how that feels. All my friends are in Azkaban or dead,” he responded sadly. He opened the door to his house and they stepped back into the living room. Rosalind was already at the table shuffling cards.

“So King’s Cup is a simple game. We need some drinks and a large cup.” She tapped her empty beer bottle and transfigured it into a goblet. “Every face of a card has a different meaning that requires a different action. For example a nine means rhyme, and whoever is the first to say a word that doesn’t rhyme has to drink. Oh but if you draw a king you have to pour some of your drink into the goblet. Whoever draws the fourth king has to drink the whole thing. Got it?”

Draco made a disgusted face. “Got it.” He was hesitant to start, thinking it was strange to be drinking with a coworker at his house. But he had nothing else to do and thought no harm would be done. It was a lot more fun than they imagined and they finished the game in about an hour. In the end there were two cards left, and it was his turn. He contemplated which card to pick and instinctively went for the card on the right. He flipped it over and the fourth king was blowing raspberries at him.

“Aha!” Rosalind said, pouring some more beer into the cup. “Looks like you have to chug it all!"

Draco groaned. “Can’t I appeal or something?” She shook her head and he took the goblet, gulping it down in four large gulps. He almost sputtered it out since it was so disgusting—they had butterbeer, wine, firewhisky and who knew what else mixed into it. The alcohol burned so strong it gave him an immediate buzz. “Ugh. That was awful. People do this for fun?”

“Don’t act like you hated it,” she nudged him with her elbow. “I saw you laughing and having a good time.”

“Maybe a little.” He smiled, leaning his back against the couch. His head was spinning. He attempted to stand up but banged his shoulder on the wall. “Damn. I am so pissed.”

“Huh?” Rosalind was laying on the ground and sat up.”Whatcha mad about?”

“I’m not mad—“ Draco said stumbling back to the floor. “I’m pissed, I drank too much…”

“Ooh you’re druunk!” she laughed. “I sometimes forget…your strange English lingo…doesn’t make too much sense to me.” She had her arms and legs spread out like a starfish and was staring blankly at the ceiling. “Your ceiling keeps spiraling…did you do something to it?”

Draco lay down next to her. “Me? No I thought that was you…I don’t like transfiguration much.”

Rosalind attempted to sit up but plopped to her side instead. Her head felt heavy, her body lethargic but she felt so free at the same time. She looked over at Draco’s pale grey eyes that appeared half asleep. “Are you falling asleep? It’s like nine o’clock.”

Draco groaned, face buried deep in his sweater sleeve. “No…I’m trying to keep the room still. Stop moving so fast you’re making my head hurt more.”

“Oh don’t be such a lightweight,” she answered. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Keep up?” he shoved his head in her direction almost knocking into hers. “I had to drink the whole bloody cup! If anything you couldn’t keep up with me!”

“You’re just upset you lost,” she said slowly, grinning slightly. “That’s not my fault.”

“Uh-huh. Like hell it’s not.” He rubbed his eyes and sat up. _“Accio potion cabinet!”_ A basket with various potions flew into Draco’s lap. He took off the stopper of the smallest one, taking a sip. “Want some? It’ll prevent a hangover.”

Rosalind crawled over to him, using his leg as a crutch. “Yes, I can’t stand hangovers.” She let the dark brown potion burn her throat and immediately felt clear-headed. “Damn that was quick. Where’d you get this?”

“Brewed it myself,” Draco said in a pompous tone. Her eyesight was no longer blurry but she was still drunk. “I’m quite adept at making potions, you know.”

“Potion making’s only fun if you’re good at it.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I like transfiguration more myself. You can do more damage.”

“What do you know about damage? You’re like two feet tall.”

“Am not!” She waved her wand at the ceiling, transfiguring it into a portal-like window that gave them a clear view of the night sky: the stars were twinkling brightly and the midnight blue ocean was clear.

“Wow,” Draco said impressed. “That’s quite a view.”

“Thank you,” she beamed, proud of her work. “I taught myself that.” They gazed at the stars for a while, pointing out the different constellations and shapes. A particularly long constellation that looked like a dragon caught her eye. “That’s the Draco constellation right? Aren’t you named after it?”

“Yeah my whole family’s named after a constellation,” he answered, taken aback. “How’d you know that?”

“Draco isn’t a very common name,” she answered firmly. “All the ancient wizarding families are in public records so it’s easy to learn your background. I read a lot since I have nothing else to do.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” he muttered.

“If you’re talking about Hermione Granger, then thank you.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome.”

It was rather peaceful laying on the floor in silence. There was a placid sense of calmness between them that echoed through the walls. Nothing was said for nearly half an hour.

“Can I ask you something?” Draco asked cautiously. Rosalind looked like she was ready to fall asleep.

“Go for it.”

“Why did you leave? The States I mean. You keep giving half answers.”

Rosalind remained silent for a long moment, eventually turning her body to his. “I did something terrible. Well really, something terrible happened to me. I handled it the worst way possible and let it ruin my life. I became very angry and uncontrollable. It turned into a huge mess I won’t ever be able to fix.” She paused, her face dark and somber. “Have you ever accidentally gotten yourself into something that spiraled out of control?”

“Yes,” he answered darkly. “Yes I have.”

“Do you ever get scared that you’ll fall back into bad habits?”

“All the time.”

“Me too.” Her voice trailed off, deep in memory. “I needed to be someplace where I could start over and become a decent person. I didn’t know what else to do.” She was quiet again, her eyes glistening in what looked like potential tears.

“You’re not a bad person,” Draco said thinking quickly. “At least I don’t think you are.”

Rosalind cracked a smile. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” She closed her eyes, not meaning to fall asleep. It was rather late; it had to be past midnight. Draco didn’t have the heart to wake her up and kick her out so he Summoned a blanket from his room and laid it over her gently. She looked tranquil enough so he set off for his own bed, feeling slightly guilty that she was still on the floor. When it was clear she was in a deep sleep he levitated her onto the couch and left her in peace. She was not as bad as he initially thought. Maybe they were a good match together. He sighed, leaving her alone to so he could immerse himself into his thoughts. 

**So Draco and Rosalind are slowly starting to realize that they probably have a lot in common, but trouble is heading their way. Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter is short because it is a flashback to Rosalind’s mother’s time. After that we will see quite a bit of George :)** ****

**Next chapter: Holding Out for a Hero.**


	6. Holding Out for a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go as far away as you can."

**Chapter title taken from the Jennifer Saunders song.**

**This chapter takes place in Rosalind's mother's time and gives insight for what is coming ahead. Historically speaking, El Salvador’s civil war was primarily in the 1980’s, ending with a peace treaty in 1992. For purposes of the story, I pushed back the timeline a bit.**

**El Salvador, early into the civil war**

Corpses paved the streets like gravel; severed limbs rotted away in the hot sun, scalding away and liquefying from the humidity. Ashes littered the area and the air was deadly quiet. Pigs were scavenging the locality, walking away with human hands and feet in their mouths, chewing the decaying flesh through the bone. A torso was running through the pavement, body aflame; the poor man was screaming the remains of his lungs out, his soul blistering in front of his audience of one. A battle had taken place mere hours before, but the war was nowhere near over. 

Sofia Menjivar stepped out from her hiding place behind a well, breathing in the noxious air. Her hair was singed from the dying fires, face crusted with dried blood. She coughed, grime falling from her body like rain. Her head was dazed, her mind cloudy; she couldn’t remember the last time she was awake, or what day it was. All she knew was that she had to head home. She cast a Revealing Spell: she was the only person left alive. She had no choice but to make the trek alone. 

El Salvador was once a happy beautiful country with Muggles and wizard kind lived together peacefully, but something had snapped on the side of the Muggles: the president was murdered and the military attempted to force control, resulting in guerrilla warfare. Not even Purebloods were safe. The targets were not Muggleborns, but anyone who disagreed with their philosophy. 

A small, modest brick and wood house was appearing at the end of the road. The walls were caved in, the garden completely demolished; the chickens in the backyard slaughtered. A putrid smell evaporated into Sofia’s lungs as soon as she stepped inside. The kitchen was empty as well as the family room, but the bedroom was the most gruesome scene: blood streaked the concrete floor, leaving traces of where the bodies were dragged around. An old woman, a young man, and a young girl lay face up on the concrete—her family—eyes still paralyzed with the ghosts of the last haunting images they saw. 

“No--” Sofia began to cry, tears streaming her cheeks. “NO!”

The body of her brother began to stir. Blood pooled out of the deep puncture wound on his chest, his breathing shallow and raggedy. “Sofia...” he whispered. 

Sofia took her brother’s hand in hers, attempting to move his body. He shook his head, knowing it was too late. “What happened to you? _Que paso?”_ she squeaked.

“I don’t know...they came looking...” He could hardly speak, his eyes hardly opening. “You can’t stay here. Leave...go as far away as you can.” 

“Where? I can’t leave you I’ll go get help--”

He shook his head once more. “No. Go with Xavier, he’ll take care of you.” His face crumpled from the pain. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more...” He looked into her eyes one last time. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said faintly, sobbing as he his last breath, his body growing cold.

Sofia clutched her brother’s chest, screaming in pain. This was a mistake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was fighting for the greater good, not to hurt her family. She couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault they were murdered, by Muggles, no less. Wizards would never leave a scene like this. She was angry, enraged, infuriated--she wanted so badly to avenge her family’s death, to make the Muggles pay for what they had done but she knew that she didn’t have it in her; she was no murderer. She had to set this right by leaving, far away and providing a better life for her family, a new family that she would start with a husband. But the pain was eating her alive. The civil war had done nothing but tear people apart. The fighting was so horrendous other countries were intervening and the wizarding world had a hard time making peace. She decided the United States would be her best option since the president was offering political asylum for those affected by the war. There she would start her new life, become a good example—no more of this trying to be the hero. 

Sofia had a huge heart, always trying to help those in need, especially those who could not care for themselves. She joined a group of vigilantes who strived to reverse what was happening around them. Several children were kidnapped, forced to fight a war they knew nothing about. With her help and several others, they were able to locate those children along with anyone else coerced into fighting and send them back to their families. But after so much success the rebels took notice and were slowly tracking down the ones who were permeating their soldiers. One by one her group diminished; one by one they disappeared, never to be heard from again. It didn’t make sense how doing the right thing was causing so much damage. 

Days later Sofia left El Salvador with longtime friend and neighbor Xavier Morana. They soon married and had a daughter they named Rosalind. More than a decade later they had another daughter they named Emma. They lived a relatively peaceful life, avoiding conflict as much as possible. There were signs however that Dark Wizards were beginning to infiltrate the government; there were several disappearances, several unexplained occurrences. But they were happy and whole, and Sofia was committed to her vow to protect her daughters at all costs, keeping them away from the life she had lived before. 

But when history repeats itself, deadly consequences are bound to happen. 

**Hello! This chapter is meant to be a sort of bridge--Rosalind’s past is quite interesting but I do not want to give it all away at once. And yes, we will be visiting El Salvador at some points. We have a whole lot of George coming right up :)**

**Next chapter: 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen).**


	7. 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A little bird told me you've never been to Hogsmeade before, or Hogwarts for that matter."

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Domestic violence and sexual assault.**

_“I missed you,” he had told her._

_She smiled. “I missed you too.”_

_He climbed through her window without asking for permission as if it was his own house, taking his shoes off, and removing his jacket._

_“You know we’re not going to do anything right?” she said to him quietly. “I told you before you—“_

_“Yeah you say that, but you’re wearing that?,” he said gruffly, ignoring her._

_His shirt and torn shorts. She was wearing his shirt._

_He didn’t care. He got what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. No matter how much she cried, no matter how much she pleaded, he found a way to make her believe that she was stupid, worthless, and that she deserved it._

_After he was done with her he stumbled to her dresser. “What’s with your weird coin collection?” he asked. She didn’t say anything, her body in pain. “I’m taking this as compensation for wasting my time. Stop crying. You’re lucky to be with me.” He crawled back out the window, leaving the young girl crying in her bed._

“Stop…stop it…please…” Rosalind was muttering in her sleep, holding tightly to the blanket. “I don’t--I don’t want--”

Draco had been up for over an hour, awoken by Rosalind’s muttering. She appeared to be in pain, the corners of her eyes streaming tears. “Morana,” he said in a low voice. “Wake up, you’re having a bad dream--” Her eyes snapped open as soon as he touched her shoulder. Upon seeing Draco she shot him with a Stunning Spell that knocked him straight into the wall. 

“Bloody hell, I was trying to be nice to you!” he yelled annoyed.

Rosalind’s hair was a disheveled mess and her eyes were darting back and forth in paranoia; she was clutching her wand and backing further into the bed. 

“Is he--is he still here?” she asked flustered.

“Is who still here? No one is here,” Malfoy says in a lower tone. “It’s just us.” 

“Just us?” She squeaks, like a child, eyeing the numerous empty bottles of alcohol on the floor, the transfigured ceiling, and the scattered deck of cards drenched of tequila. “You let me sleep here?” 

“What was I supposed to do leave you on the floor? You were drunk,” Draco retorted. “I wasn’t going to kick you out.”

Rosalind eyed him in surprise, as if she expected him to say something terrible “Sorry,” she finally said coming to her senses. “I didn’t realize we had a party last night.” 

“You could say that.” He whisked his wand, two plates setting onto his table with two glasses of pumpkin juice and fresh bacon, French toast, and syrup. “Good morning by the way.” 

She sat down in the rickety chair and took a sip of juice. “Good morning,” she said gracelessly. “Thanks for breakfast. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t have to Stun me either but I’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she poked her toast. “I had a bad dream and forgot where I was. It’s been a long time since I’ve been somewhere besides my house.”

Draco took a large bite of bacon and chewed it slowly. “So you don’t normally talk like a madman in your sleep?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I’ll clean up and fix your ceiling before we leave.” She ate the remainder of her breakfast quietly, transfiguring her clothes into different colors so it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone that she hadn’t changed. Draco slipped away to the bathroom for a quick shower. He emerged ten minutes later in a towel, having forgotten his clothes in his bedroom. Rosalind looked in his direction, noticing many faint, long scars on his torso. She jerked her head away when Draco caught her and Banished the empty bottles into the trashcan.

He walked into the living room as he buttoned up his gingham dress shirt. “Those lovely scars are from dear Potter. We had a row during our sixth year in the bathroom.” He answered her matter-of-factly, like it was a piece of information everyone knew.

“Harry gave you those?” she asked astonished. “I didn’t think he would do something like that.”

“Potter isn’t always as noble as he seems,” he answered rather coldly. “He likes his Golden Boy appearance.” 

Rosalind stayed quiet. Maybe he had a reason to do it, she thought. But she didn’t see Draco as someone who would provoke someone to the point they would curse him.

“Are you coming with me or are you too embarrassed to be seen going in together?” he quipped.

“Not embarrassed. I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with me in case any of the women at the Ministry are into you and you wouldn’t want to raise suspicions.” 

Draco gave a stiff laugh and grinned. “A lot of those women have already thrown themselves at me, being a former Death Eater and all. Nothing would make them more jealous than Apparating there together.”

Rosalind rolled her eyes and took his hand. With a faint pop Draco’s house disappeared and they were in the Atrium. They Apparated in front of the fountain, directly in the view of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Rosalind quickly let go of Draco’s hand as he raised his eyebrows to them in greeting.

“Speaking of the devil there’s the little git,” he said through gritted teeth.

They paved their way to the lifts, passing by the small group. “Good morning Minister,” he said to Shacklebolt monotonously.

Kingsley nodded. “Good morning Mr. Malfoy, Rosalind.”

“Good morning Minister,” she smiled timidly, giving an awkward wave to Ron, Harry and Hermione who had questioning looks on their faces.

“Didn’t know you were on a first name basis with the Minister,” Draco said cooly once they were safely in the lifts.

“I just met him a few days ago. I’m surprised he remembered my name.”

The golden grilles opened to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They walked to the last door of the hallway on the right, arriving just on time for their supervisor to greet them. 

“Ah! The Golden Pair has arrived,” a worn-looking Bowen said to them. “Come, come now, we have a department meeting in the Auror’s Office.” He laid a hand on the small of Rosalind’s back, leading them to the spacious room. They were amongst the last to arrive, with the Golden Trio shuffling into the seats in the back.

Harry walked through the audience and stood by the door, rapping his wand on the window to get everyone’s attention. “Good morning everyone, sorry for being late.” He threw some photographs in the air, which swelled to be five feet by three feet long, depicting the faces of many defeated looking but angry men.

“As you are all very aware of, there has been a surge of crime in the area for quite some time now. There have also been talks of riots in Azkaban particularly amongst former Death Eaters. Azkaban no longer has dementors but if there is a riot that could initiate reason to use their services again.” Mutters waved throughout the room, astonished that dementors would even be mentioned. “Instead we propose that we send some of our employees to patrol Azkaban, on top of or instead of their normal shifts. You will all be notified by the end of the week when your shift will be. We also will need to make special accommodations for certain employees.” He turned his gaze to Draco, whose eyes glittered with anger. 

“Memos will be dispensed shortly; if you have any questions my office is open at all hours.” He clapped his hands and the photographs shrunk to their normal size and chairs screeched as everyone began to leave.

Draco and Rosalind were by the exit when Harry stopped them. “Malfoy, can I see you in my office?” His voice was firm. Draco’s jaw was tense; he turned on his heel without a word.

Rosalind let the crowd of wizards discharge her into the hallway. Hermione was at the edge of the pack waiting for her. “Good morning,” she said brightly. “You look awfully tired, are you alright?”

“I had a long night,” she admitted.

“I see.” Hermione stared at her inquiringly for a moment then smiled. “Since when have you and Malfoy been friends?”

“Friends?” The word sounded foreign to her; she hadn’t had a friend for as long as she could remember. “We’re not exactly friends…we work together. We’re partners.”

“Oh, he’s the one your supervisor was talking about?” she asked surprised. “He was talking to Harry and I about finally finding someone compatible with one of his officers; I had no idea it was you two.”

Rosalind shrugged. “I guess so. He’s not that bad, once you get to know him a bit.” 

Hermione let out a small laugh. “I wouldn’t know, he’s never been the most decent person to me. But I know he’s not the evil Death Eater everyone makes him out to be. Oh by the way,” she added with a sly smile. “Don’t you have a date this weekend with George?”

Rosalind’s face flushed, she had completely forgotten about it during her rendezvous with Draco. “I do actually, this Friday night. I haven’t talked to him since then though and I have no idea what we’re doing so I don’t know what to expect.”

“Well honestly, George hasn’t gone out on a date since he was with his Hogwarts girlfriend and that was ages ago. I can’t tell you what to expect either.” An annoyed voice called her name out from the Auror’s Office and she turned her body to leave. “Oh that’s Ronald, he looks upset. Want to have lunch today?”

“Sure, meet you at the café?”

Hermione nodded and met up with her ginger-headed lover, who looked agitated. Rosalind sat in her chair and began looking through her notes but couldn’t focus. That dream she had was bothering her; she hadn’t had it in months. It was usually the product of stress or change but she felt fine. Maybe it was nerves for her date with George but that didn’t seem right. Or perhaps it was her psyche telling her it was a bad idea staying the night at a coworker’s house; it almost felt like a one night stand.

Draco arrived several minutes later, ramming his fists into his desk, causing a jet of light to emerge from his wand. “That filthy git. He’s such a fucking arse.”

“What happened?”

“It’s _Saint Potter,”_ Draco spat in a low voice. “He doesn’t fucking trust me. Thinks I’ll break my father out of Azkaban if they send me there or owl him a warning if I stay. I have to have a member of the goddamn Order babysitting me so I don’t do something dodgy.”

“Oh really,” Rosalind sat up, ears perked. “Who are they sending you with?”

“Weasley. Can’t stand him. I’d take the Mudblood Granger any day before him. At least she has some sense in her head.”

Rosalind punched his arm. “Don’t call her that!”

“Did I insult your little friend?” he sneered, rubbing his arm. “Stop hitting me so hard people are going to think you’re abusing me.”

“Because you’re so fragile right? Can’t even handle a little bottle of liquor.”

Draco’s face faltered to a smirk. “Don’t be a sore winner.” He leaned back, creaking his chair. “Can’t believe they still don’t trust me. I’ve been here years now and haven’t stepped out of line once. I’ve never missed a day or been late and this is how they treat me?” He dug his fingers through his platinum blonde hair in frustration. “I don’t even speak to my father anymore because he thinks I’m a disappointment,” he finished in a whisper.

Rosalind began to offer her sympathies but Draco shut her out, before she could tell him she did not think he was a disappointment. 

***

Draco was in a foul mood for several days but occasionally softened up for a moment. They had not talked about Azkaban since the day of the meeting and their assignments hadn’t been handed to them yet. They had no leads on their cases and there were no updates from St. Mungo’s or Adriana. It was starting to feel like a dead end.

Friday simmered by slowly, but finally it was time to leave. At the first stroke of the clock Rosalind jumped out of her seat and headed straight to the lifts.

“You’re awfully giddy,” Draco observed. “Where are you headed off to?”

“Oh nowhere, just going home,” she replied in a high pitched voice.

Draco cocked his eyebrow. “Dying to read your books are you?”

Rosalind smiled, not being able to contain her excitement. “No I actually have some different plans in mind. I have a date tonight.” She was grinning like a little school girl.

“A date?” Draco was flabbergasted. “With who?”

“I only just met him recently, I hardly know him. Don’t look so eager,” she added harshly upon seeing his quizzical look. “Once in a blue moon someone finds me attractive, believe it or not.”

“I’m not astonished,” he retorted. “Just surprised it happened so quickly.” The grilles opened to the Atrium and he prepared to step out. “Have fun on your date,” he said without giving her a last goodbye.

Rosalind took the long way home, walking through the Leaky Cauldron and saying hi to Tom before heading to her flat. A handsome owl was waiting for her, holding a long-stemmed red rose in its beak and a small roll of parchment on its leg. She gave the owl a treat before opening it; a small note was written in straight, stylish writing:

_Meet me in front of Rosa Lee Teabag’s shop at six. Can’t wait to see you._

_Regards,_

_George_

The clock chimed once, indicating it was five thirty. “Half an hour?” she sputtered. That barely gave her enough time to get ready, she hadn’t showered or eaten. She panicked into the bathroom, throwing some potions in her hair to try to make it look approachable and used her wand as a blow dryer to keep it in place and iron her clothes. Twenty minutes later she was back out the door, heading to the tea shop.

A tall wizard waited for her by the entrance. He was wearing navy blue slacks, a maroon button down shirt and a wristwatch similar to the one at the Burrow. He smiled widely when he saw Rosalind in her flared skirt, high heeled boots, and long sleeved sweater. “You are looking quite stunning this evening,” he said taking her hand and kissing it gently. Her face flushed as soon as his lips touched her skin.

“Thank you. You are looking rather handsome yourself,” she said honestly.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm and she linked them together. Rosa Lee’s was a quaint little café, nestled into the corner of Diagon Alley. It had a cozy atmosphere that she loved.

“So a little bird told me that you’ve never been to Hogwarts before,” George began as he escorted them to the back. “Or Hogsmeade for that matter.”

“Who told you that?”

“Can’t say, all I know is that her last name rhymes with Ranger,” he grinned. “Anyways, I thought it would be a good idea to get you more acquainted with Scotland.” He stopped them near the kitchen. “Are you ready?” She nodded. “Hold my hand.” Rosalind took hold of him and after the initial pop felt like she was being shoved through a tube. Her head felt like it was about to explode; the longer the journey the longer the pain lasted.

They came to an abrupt halt in front of what looked like the exact tea shop they just left but their surroundings were much different: the village was chillier and much more picturesque than Diagon Alley with its tiny cottages dotting the horizon; the sun was setting, casting beautiful rays of orange and pink into their midst.

“Wow,” Rosalind whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wait until you see the rest,” George whispered into her ear. “Zonko’s Joke Shop used to be over there, but we took it over a few years back,” he said pointing to an obnoxiously colored building. “Honeyduke’s is across from it, we’re planning on expanding our line to include more sweets soon.”

“What’s that over there?” she asked in the direction of a small and cramped shop that was emitting steam from its pores.

“That’s Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. Only the most in love couples go there,” he said with a slight air of contemplation. “We can’t go there yet,” he added with a wink.

Rosalind’s stomach lurched. That wink of his was exhilarating. “Where are we off to then?”

“I pulled some strings, asked for some favors. We should be heading over to the Black Lake.” He pulled her arm in the opposite direction where the vast lake was. A large boat was waiting for them, resembling a gondola: it was long and wide but had no oars; there was one row of seats covered in velvet and a picnic basket in the center. The water grazed the sides of the boat, rocking it gently. George stepped in first and then helped Rosalind climb into the vessel. As soon as they sat down they were magically propelled in the direction of the sunset.

“Where are we going?” she asked as George unpacked the basket.

“You’ll see. You do like seafood don’t you? I forgot to ask.” Out of the basket popped two plates of smoked salmon, couscous, grilled shrimp and lobster tail; their auras steaming into their noses. 

“Yes I love it actually. Did you do this yourself?”

“What the boat? No, I’m no carpenter. But dinner, yes I did. I’m an exceptional cook if I do say so myself.” He handed her a glass of wine and they began to eat.

Rosalind was in awe. The more she thought about it the more she realized she hadn’t been on many proper dates before. No one had ever asked her to be her boyfriend, it kind of just happened. And here was George Weasley who she hardly knew, going above and beyond anything she expected.

As they were eating their dessert, a loud splash emanated close by shaking the boat. Rosalind clutched onto George’s arm. “What was that?”

“The Giant Squid. He probably wants to say hello,” he said calmly.

“A giant squid?” she shrieked. “Those things are vicious!”

George laughed. “Don’t worry he’s nice, I promise. Rather ticklish too; his favorite food is toast by the way.” He threw a few pieces into the water, which were quickly devoured by a large slimy tentacle.

Rosalind jumped so high she almost knocked their boat over. George leaped at the opportunity and held her in his arms, shushing her. “It’s alright I won’t let him hurt you,” he said grinning. “I’ll fight him to the death if I have to.”

She relaxed, leaning into his chest. “That’s quite heroic of you,” she said with a smile.

“There was a reason I was Sorted into Gryffindor,” he replied.

She had to admit she felt comfortable lying in George’s arms. It didn’t feel awkward, odd or rushed; it felt perfectly easy. She looked up into his eyes, noticing for the first time how handsome he was: his hair was an impeccably disheveled mess that went along well with his auburn eyes; his thin nose had countless freckles that made him appear younger, and he had prominent laugh lines creasing the corners of his mouth.

George etched her face carefully with his fingertips, lightly moving a curl from her eyes. The moonlight was beaming down at them, accentuating her features. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

Rosalind blushed. “It’s been a while” she said truthfully. 

“That’s a shame,” he said with a chuckle. “You are absolutely gorgeous.” She leaned in closer to him, feeling his warm breath swindling into her own. Her heart started to beat faster as his lips came closer to hers, slowly making their way towards her skin.

The boat slammed into the shore, screeching to a halt. Rosalind slammed into George’s nose, splattering blood everywhere.

“Oh no! I am so sorry!” she yelled frantically. _“Episky!”_ A torturous crunching sound emitted from his nose, breaking it back into place.

“Oy! How’d you do that?” he asked rubbing his schnoz.

“I used to transfigure my nose quite a bit,” she said proudly. She rubbed an ointment on George and all signs of potential scars faded away. “I’ve gotten into a few scuffles back in my day.”

“I better make sure not to get on your bad side then,” George laughed.

She smiled and he slipped his arm beneath her waist. She found that oddly enough she did not mind it; it almost felt comforting.

“See that over there?” he pointed to a large, deciduous plant with rope-like limbs that suffocated anything its path. “That’s the Whomping Willow. There’s a secret passage underneath it that leads to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The Honeyduke’s cellar has another passageway that leads into Hogwarts by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.”

“Why do I have a feeling you know every way in and out of that castle?” Rosalind asked slyly.

“You’re speaking to George Weasley, infamous Hogwarts dropout remember?” He stiffed his posture boastfully. “I am a legend at this school.” He steered them to the foot of a broad set of stone steps, leading to magnificent oak doors that stood over fifteen feet tall. He tapped on the doors in a circular motion with his wand, and the majestic doors opened dramatically. “Welcome to Hogwarts Miss Rosalind.”

Rosalind’s jaw dropped; she did not think they would actually be allowed to step inside. Flaming torches floated against the walls, giving the hall an eerie yet comforting glow; nearby was the Great Hall where students were spilling into for dinner. Other students were scattered throughout the hall in the benches and tables, while some casually walked around in groups. Quills scratched away on meter long rolls of parchment, wands whisked in preparation for charms exams, and potions bubbled fumes of alchemy.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” she breathed, almost unable to speak. “Are we even allowed inside?”

“Allowed?” George scoffed. “What’s life without a little mischief? We’ll be fine, as long as we don’t run into Filch--he’ll turn us in.” He dragged her by the elbow to explore the remainder of the castle: they peeked into several classrooms, ran around the quad, chatted with Nearly Headless Nick and attempted to sneak some flying time at the Quidditch pitch until the Slytherins began their practice.

“May I ask what your business is here tonight, Mr. Weasley?” a stern voice behind them said.

They stopped dead in their tracks, barely able to face the tall, severe-looking woman glaring at them with her square spectacles. She was sporting emerald green robes and her peppered hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

“Professor—Professor McGonagall!” George stammered in a strange high-pitched voice. “How nice to see you!”

The witch pursed her lips, giving an even sterner look. “Nice to see you too Mr. Weasley. I’m assuming you’re not here on business?”

“No not tonight, I know how much you dislike my items in the castle,” he said rather nervously. “We’re just wandering around.”

“I see.” She took a good look at Rosalind, who was trying not to hide behind George. “And who may I ask is this young lady?”

“My name is Rosalind, professor,” she said as she extended her hand. “My sister goes to school here, her name is Emma Morana.”

“You’re Emma’s sister?” she raised an eyebrow. “The little American second year? She’s your spitting image.”

She smiled nervously, unsure whether she was complimenting her or not. “Yes she is, unfortunately. I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble.”

McGonagall laughed. “Poor thing hardly talks. I’m sure she will be happy to see you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Rosalind’s face flushed as George relaxed his shoulders. McGonagall lowered her voice. “Make sure to avoid Argus, he has been on the prowl since he heard you are in the castle.” She smiled at them and left for her office.

A small first year tugged at George’s pant leg. “Excuse me sir, why’s your ear gone?” he asked curiously.

George bent down the boy’s eye level completely unoffended. “A few years ago a smelly old Death Eater cursed it off while we were battling,” he said simply. “I don’t mind though, it helps me get the ladies.” He smirked in Rosalind’s direction and the little boy opened his mouth in awe.

“Blimey that means you’re indestructible!” he cried impressed. George slipped him a Nosebleed Nougat, warning him to use it when he most needed it. The boy excitedly ran off, showing off to his friends. The band of paltry first years cheered and ran back to him, hauling him to their comrades to ask about Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Rosalind laughed, following close behind them.

“Who’s this, Georgie?” a spunky ginger-haired boy with braces asked when Rosalind approached them. “Is she your girlfriend?”

George’s ear burned red. “Not yet she is not, Algie but perhaps sometime soon she will be,” he answered with a smile. He shielded his mouth with his hand, whispering. “I think she’s a bit overwhelmed that I have so many kids. Might scare her off.” The young boys grabbed some Skiving Snackboxes that he seized from his pocket and they ran away with their treats.

“Georgie?” Rosalind said with a laugh. “Am I allowed to call you that?”

He gave her a playful glare. “Only my mother and a select few people can call me that.”

“Ooh don’t be such a sourpuss Georgie,” she giggled, pinching his cheek.

“Fine then. I get to call you Rosie.”

She frowned at him. “Rosie sounds like a little girl’s name. Georgie is cute.”

“So you’re admitting I’m cute?” he smirked.

“You’re okay, I guess,” she smiled. 

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, one day you won’t be able to dismiss my charms.”

She smiled. They heard a meow coming from a yellow eyed cat in the distance. Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s pet had found them and was ready to pounce.

“Oh drat,” George said as they jumped up. “Filch will kick us out for sure. Quick—in here.” He lifted up a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy where he instructed her to walk three times. A door materialized in front of them, which shut before the cat could alert Filch where they were.

They entered what at first looked like an abandoned classroom but was actually a ballroom: the walls were lined with maroon and gold curtains, the windows were beaming sunlight and the mahogany floor shone on them. A phonograph was at the corner of the room playing romantic jazz music.

“What is this?” Rosalind asked in astonishment. “It’s dark outside how is the sun shining?”

George merely grinned. “This is the Room of Requirement, it contains everything you ask for. I was feeling quite amorous as you can see.” He stepped towards her, bowing deeply. “Care to dance?” 

“Oh I can’t dance—“

“I’ll show you.” He grabbed her hand before she could finish, keeping them chest to chest. “Just follow my lead.” Rosalind kept up as best she could, being careful not to step on his toes; she was a terrible dancer.

The music was peaceful, colorful and relaxing. “Do you normally do this for your dates?” she asked after several minutes.

“What, dance with them? Not really I’m not much of a dancer myself.” He laughed seeing the look on her face. “I don’t honestly. I told you you’re the first person I’ve asked out in a long time.”

“What made you ask me out?” 

He paused, the music still playing softly in the background. “I don’t know, really,” he said as he held her closer. “There’s something about you that immediately drew me to you…like I needed to talk to you.”

“Well I did walk into your joke shop, so you kind of had to,” she teased.

George rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. You just seem so intoxicating. I can’t keep my eyes off of you. It’s like you’re hypnotizing me.”

She heart fluttered. “So my Salvadoran voodoo is working.” 

George let out a hearty laugh. “A little too well darling, you may need to tone it down a bit.” 

She smiled, holding his gaze. “Never.” 

He grinned, their eyes containing to lock: he looked mesmerized, as if he could not believe what was in front of him. He lifted her chin closer to his face, their hot breath coiling together. She closed her eyes as he pressed his lips onto hers, gently but firmly. A rush of emotions pulsed through her body, sending her heart into overdrive. Her stomach knotted with butterflies, her palms began to sweat in excitement; she had never felt like this before. George planted kisses all over her neck, lining her jaw line and making his way back to her mouth. He was sweet yet lustful at the same time, being careful not to push her boundaries. He led them to the couch that appeared before them, descending Rosalind onto her back. He cupped the back of her head, taking in her scent, her body and her essence.

“My goodness,” he whispered several minutes later, breathing heavily. “You are quite the kisser.”

Rosalind smiled shyly, hair a mess. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She sat up on the couch trying to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure George could hear it.

“We should probably head back,” he finally said. “It’s getting late.”

They headed to the door, making sure that no prefects or professors were lurking the hallway. They managed to sneak down to the first floor entrance without getting caught, slipping through the doors and out to the Black Lake. The boat was still waiting for them, edges being licked away by the gentle waves.

“After you madam,” George said as he helped her in the boat. It was close to midnight and the air was chilly. Rosalind shuddered and let George’s long arms warm her body. The boat waded through the lake slowly, finally heaving to a stop at the edge of Hogsmeade. The shops were quiet, the streets dimly lit. She held onto his hand and they Apparated back to Diagon Alley. They landed back in front of the tea shop with a thud; hardly any wizards were wandering the street.

“I should walk you home,” George said noticing the sketchy men by Knockturn Alley. “Wouldn’t want you to be getting hurt.”

They walked through the dark alley eventually making it to Rosalind’s flat. “I had a great time with you tonight,” he said softly. 

“So did I,” she admitted. “Thank you for walking me home.”

“A gentleman never lets a lady walk home by herself,” he beamed. He squeezed her, kissing the top of her head sweetly. “When will I be able to see you again?”

“When do you want to?”

“I would say tomorrow, but I have to work at the shop all weekend. We’re getting some new product in. Maybe same time next week?”

She nodded. “I would love that.”

“Great. I’ll owl you, and maybe stop by,” he winked. Her stomach fluttered. “See you around, Rosie.”

“See you, Georgie.”

She sighed happily, setting foot into her flat. She was laughing to herself, high off of a strange euphoria that she had never experienced before. It was a great feeling, she had to admit, feeling so high that she couldn’t stop smiling. 

She noticed a small piece of parchment that appeared to have been shoved under her door. How odd, she thought. Hardly anyone knew where she lived. She opened it and read the small, scribbled writing:

_You’re being watched._

**Uh oh, who’s been keeping an eye on Rosalind? What was up with Draco’s reaction when she told him she had a date? It’s going to get intense pretty soon! Thank you so much for reading! The upcoming chapter is one of my favorites :)**

**Next chapter: These Walls.**


	8. These Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kill me? You don't have it in you."

**Trigger warning: There are some strong suggestive scenes in this chapter (sexual harassment).**

  
  


Every creak in the floorboards, every shadow in the night, every whistle or bustling set her on edge. Despite the Revealing Charms showing no one was around or had entered her flat, it didn’t ease her anxiety. She didn’t breathe a word to anyone, didn’t leave, and didn’t send any post. She was waiting: whoever was watching her couldn’t be far behind. 

“What’s going on with you?” Draco asked Monday morning when he saw the bags under her eyes. “Was your date that terrible?”

“No it went really well actually,” she glared through a clump of curls. “It’s what happened afterward that wasn’t.”

Draco shot back a dirty glare. “What happened?”

“With the date or when I got home?”

“When you got home I don’t care about your bloody date,” he spat.

Her face fell into a frown. “Someone left a note under my door. It said that I’m being watched.”

“Who do you think left it?”

“I have no idea. Only a handful of people know who I am or where I live so the list isn’t very long.” She dropped her head on her desk, talking through the wood. “I don’t know if that scares me more because it could be someone I don’t know.”

“Well do you have any enemies?” he asked.

“In England? No.”

“You probably don’t have anything to worry about. Knowing you you probably set up a bunch of traps and charms around the place.” 

“I didn’t think of traps actually. That sounds like a good idea.” She propped her head onto her arm. “How was your weekend by the way? Did you do anything fun?”

“Loads of fun,” he said sarcastically. “Spent lots of time reading.”

“I didn’t know you were such an intellectual.”

“You’d be surprised.” He almost grinned. “I’m not the person I appear to be.”

Rosalind looked into his pale grey eyes trying hard not to smile back. “Surprise me then.” Draco smirked, sensing a challenge, interrupted by their supervisor. 

“Good morning everyone!” Bowen glided to the head of the room, a whoosh of papers trailing behind him. “As you all know, most of you will be patrolling Azkaban in the coming weeks. The department has decided that the best option would be to send groups of four—two Aurors and two officers for maximum protection and security. Breckenridge, Lucille, you will be paired with Hermione Granger and John Dawlish. Malfoy and Rosalind will be working with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. You eight will be leaving promptly at five this evening; be prepared for a very long shift. The workshop for how to handle prison situations will begin after lunch.” Draco clenched his fists. Breckenridge’s eyes rolled, while Lucille smiled gleefully.

“Great. Not only are we working with Weaselbee and Potter, we’re stuck with those two mindless gits.”

“You can’t handle working with your former partners? She seems to still be into you.”

Draco laughed dryly, head nodding to Lucille. “She was a one night stand.”

“No way!” she whispered loudly. “You got with that?”

“I’m not proud of it,” he defended himself. “I was plastered.”

“I doubt that’s what you were thinking in the moment.” 

He grimaced at the idea. “No way. Never again. She was terrible.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her that was terrible,” she grinned into a full blown laugh. 

Draco cocked his head away from her, mouth open. “You’re in an awfully frisky mood today aren’t you?”

Rosalind continued to laugh. “That’s what sleep deprivation does to me.” 

Draco let slip a grin, and they headed to the cafeteria for a bite to eat before the workshop. Upon their return was a small box on Rosalind’s desk attached with a note.

“What’s this?” she asked as she read the parchmen, her eyes lighting up in happiness. She opened the box and handed a chocolate to him. “Want one?”

He nodded and popped a truffle in his mouth. It was rather good. “Who sent you that?”

“George,” she said with a wide grin. “He’s asking if we’re still on for this Friday.”

Draco choked on the truffle, noticing the label on the box. “George Weasley? You’re dating a fucking Weasley?”

“We went on one date,” she explained slowly, taken aback by his shock. “He’s really sweet.”

He shot her an insulted glare. “A blood traitor? You can do better than that.”

“Who do you suggest then, Prince Draco?” she asked, her brow nearly at her hairline. 

“Anyone. My friend Blaise is available,” he quipped.

“Blaise Zabini? I have heard he’s quite easy on the eyes.”

He scowled. “I was kidding. At least find someone that doesn’t give you some bloody disgusting chocolates.”

Rosalind frowned. “Who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?” 

They both huffed in their seats, ignoring each other. Rosalind didn’t understand what his problem was; perhaps he had deeper problems with the Weasleys that she didn’t know about but he still had no reason to be rude.

A tall skeletal witch walked briskly into the room, introducing herself. She threw several photographs in the air, depicting the different areas of Azkaban and other prisons. Her stringy hair drooped in front of her eyelids, masking her monotonous voice; she looked like she had received the Dementor’s Kiss herself. The workshop was uninteresting; no one was paying attention. Rosalind doodled on a piece of parchment, replying to George’s letter, annoyed and still stung at Draco’s reaction. 

As soon as the workshop was over they headed to the Auror’s Office still avoiding each other, walking in a group towards the lifts. They were to Apparate to an Apparition Point on an island then take a boat to the prison. It was Unplottable and had Anti-Appartition Jinxes protecting it, making it difficult to get to.

Rosalind held her breath, being sucked into the compressing feeling that came with Apparition. She opened her eyes and saw that they were at a small rock for an island in the middle of the North Sea, surrounded by grey and white waves that clapped loudly on the jagged earth. A scruffy looking wizard led the eight of them onto the boat, instructing them to be careful once they arrived. The boat sailed peacefully through the water, its bow repelling any treacherous waters and creatures in its path. The boat crunched onto another slab of rock half an hour later and the wizard secured it on the dock. He nodded towards Harry, who began his speech.

“Alright everyone, we’ll split up into groups of four. Malfoy and Morana with myself and Ron, Hermione and Dawlish with you two. We’ll start at opposite sides, sending each other signals in case of an emergency. There are other guards here so keep them in mind. Don’t speak to any of the inmates and do not refer to them by their names. We will check in on each other periodically. We’ll mainly be patrolling the corridors, interviewing inmates only on my order. Understood?”

Everyone muttered their acknowledgment and split up. The air was a different type of chilly; fog misted over the grounds like ghostly figures, and a sliver of moon was creeping into the sky. Howls could be heard coming from a distance.

Azkaban prison loomed over them in its triangular glory: a tall structure, it breathed out misery and sucked in the happiness of those inside of it. Dementors were not needed—the building’s magic was enough to haunt the sanest man into madness. 

Two guards screeched the rusted iron gates open, letting the group of wizards in. Hermione's group took a right and Harry’s went left. They shuddered at the draft of cold air sweeping through them. Most of the cells were occupied by decrepit men, with eyes hollow and lonely, begging for human companionship.

They walked carefully, not wanting to awaken the prisoners who were dozed off. How they slept was a mystery; most of the inmates banged their heads on the walls, screaming their lungs out, claiming that the dementors were after them; others were picking their skin off their faces, ripping their hair out—Azkaban was full of madness.

A wolf whistle could be heard from one of the cells up ahead. “What do we have here?” A voice growled. “Where are you from, gorgeous? You look way too pretty to be from around these parts.”

Rosalind's heart stopped. “Go back into your cell inmate.” She sounded more confident than she felt. 

“Why won’t you come in here with me?” he winked, licking his dried lips. His teeth were decaying and she could smell the beads of sweat his body was producing despite the cold.

“I told you to—“

The inmate grabbed her wrists before she had time to react. A red Stunning Spell hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him to the cell wall. He managed to drag himself to his feet, glaring at the wizard who Stunned him.

“Since when does Draco Malfoy come to the aid of a lady?” he snorted. “I wouldn’t blame you though, she looks quite delicious…” He staggered, leaning closer to the bars. “Tell me, Draco, have you fucked her yet?”

Rosalind attempted to throw herself at him in anger but Harry held her back. “Don’t. He’s trying to make you upset so you’ll get closer to him. He wants your wand.”

“I’m just doing my job Rodolphus,” Draco said dangerously. “I’m much better off than you are, rotting in this place.”

Rodolphous Lestrange laughed darkly. “You think you could survive in here? The Dark Lord had a job for you and you failed him. You’re a bloody coward. You might as well be a Mudblood, running off to the Ministry and working for them. No wonder your father thinks you’re a disgrace.” He spat in Draco’s face, but Rosalind’s wand was too quick, propelling it back to the Death Eater.

“That is enough!” Harry yelled, Silencing Rodolphous. “Calm down, both of you! He’s being an arse to get a rise out of you. Didn’t you pay attention to the workshop?”

“Shut it Harry,” said a disgruntled Ron. “You’re starting to sound like Hermione.”

Harry furrowed his brow but ignored the comment. Draco and Ron were being amicable, trying to say as little as possible. Rosalind wondered what mission Rodolphous was talking about. Whatever it was Draco didn’t do it, meaning that the Death Eaters hated him. So what was Harry worried about?

An hour later they met up with Hermione’s group. They had nothing to report and neither did the guards. Food was at the table which they took turns eating. Draco’s mood had softened towards Rosalind but they didn’t say much to each other.

"Thank you for that back there,” she muttered. “That was nice of you.”

“Don’t mention it. Rodolphus is a sleazy arse.” He bit into his sandwich and gulped his pumpkin juice, hardly glancing at her when she sat next to him. He debated whether or not he wanted to talk to her and pondered for several moments about it, eventually swallowing his pride. “I was supposed to kill Dumbledore,” he said finally in a low voice. “That was the mission I had.” 

Rosalind dropped her sandwich. “You were supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore?” she asked in shock.

“The Dark Lo—He told me I had a job to do and I couldn’t do it. I failed everyone. I don’t think I have the ability to kill someone,” he finished quietly. “I didn’t want to do it--I didn’t want to become a Death Eater let alone kill someone but my father--he said that it was what the Dark Lord wanted. And if I didn’t do it he’d kill me.” His eyes grew dark. “I felt as if I had no choice.” 

“So you were a Death Eater…and you never killed anyone? You never tortured anyone either?” she asked hesitantly.

“I never killed anyone. I saw plenty of people get killed though. I never tortured anyone but saw a lot of things I wish I could forget…but I didn’t do anything to stop it either.” His voice stiffened in regret. “Which makes me as complicit as them.” 

Rosalind gave him a stiff, closed lip smile. “We can’t all be heroes all the time. Forget what Rodolphous or anyone else says. You’re not a bad person.”

He sighed. “Maybe.” He brushed his hand against hers for a moment, feeling how smooth her skin was. Her face immediately glimpsed shock and she moved it back onto her sandwich, ignoring the jolt of intensity she felt. 

A dense, bitter wind swept through the prison: the group’s conversations were hushed and the jail was instantly muted with fear; they could hear each other’s breathing from the other side of the room. Harry put his finger to his lips, instructed them not to speak. A boom cracked through what sounded like the front gate and screams penetrated the walls.

“Stay with your groups,” Harry ordered. “Hermione, keep your lot behind us. Everyone else stay close by.”

With their wands drawn like swords they sprinted to the front gate where a young guard lay dead, head drowning in his own blood. The other guard was cradling his body, crying for help.

“They’re rioting! They’re by the graveyard!”

Harry led the troop of wizards to the graveyard, doubling back around the prison. Wails pleading for aid echoed throughout the barricade; it sounded like the guards were under attack.

Gaunt, skeletal hands were ripping through the earth, reaching for life. Their faces were sunken, bloodless, with crimson eyes and rotten, scabby skin: the graveyard had turned into a battleground of Infefi. They were slicing throats, splitting heads open with blunt objects, feeding on the blood of their victims.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said in a high-pitched voice. “Bloody hell I've never seen Inferi before.”

A jet of light zoomed past their heads, breaking a gravestone. The inmates were pouring into the yard shooting spells at whatever was in their way, stopping at nothing to leave the godforsaken rock of a prison. Everyone scattered on Harry’s order.

"There you are darling,” a sinister voice whispered by Rosalind’s ear. “I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to see you again.”

Rosalind shot a Stunning Spell at Rodolphus Lestrange but he flicked it away wordlessly. “Where’s little Draco to save you?” He chuckled, stepping closer to her and repelling every spell she shot at him. “Oh yes…” He grasped a chunk of her hair, inhaling it deeply. “You smell absolutely delicious…Pureblood, are you not? What a waste, you would’ve made a fine Death Eater.” He traced her face with his fingertips, lacing the curves of her shirt with his free hand. She froze, paralyzed with fear, fighting tears. “You know there is something about being away from people that makes you realize how important human touch is…” He slid his hand underneath her shirt, breathing in her ear, giving it a slow lick. “So you begin to crave it.” He licked his lips, opening his mouth closer to hers.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, choking back tears. “Touch me and I will fucking kill you.”

“Kill me?” He smiled, lowering his hand. “You don’t have it in you. You’re much too noble.”

She shoved him, to which he reacted by slapping her in the face.

_ “Crucio!” _

Rodolphous’ body contoured in pain; his head jerked back and forth, his spine convulsing in gruesome angles. His eyes remained open, glaring at her with such intensity she feared he was resisting the curse. 

_ “Crucio!” _ She lunged at his body, forgetting about magic—she thrust punch after punch wherever she could: his nose, his ribs, his pelvis—anything. She shattered his cheekbone and grabbed his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. Rodolphous recoiled his arms, digging his hands into the earth to save himself; his eyes were bulging, sweat was burning his face and his body began to relax. Rosalind tightened her grip, elated: she was euphoric from the power, high from the hysteria of being so close to taking his life--

“Rosalind? What are you doing?!” Hermione shot a spell that chipped her shoulder and dragged her off Rodolphus. She kicked her legs trying to free herself but he was already beginning to retreat. 

“I knew you had a fight in you,” he said, wiping away blood from his mouth. “It’s my favorite kind of foreplay.” He winked, departing with his stolen wand. 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What were you thinking? No one can use Unforgivable Curses--not even Aurors!”

“He was--he was trying to hurt me Hermione!” she yelled, tears streaming from her eyes. 

“I know!” she picked her off the ground and hugged her. “I know. But you have to be careful; you can’t be using those spells left and right. You could be sent here by the Ministry. We can’t stoop down to their level, it’s what they want.” She gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

Rosalind was leaning against one of the tombstones clutching her chest, her other hand clenching her hair. “I can’t believe—I promised myself—I can’t—“ Her eyes were burning with tears as she sobbed into her arms. Hermione attempted to assist her but Ron was calling her.

“Hermione move! They’re heading towards the boat! Let Harry take care of the Inferi!” He dragged her away as a giant lasso of fire erupted from Harry’s wand, leaving Rosalind to fend for herself. 

Harry was standing in the middle of the graveyard, waving his wand in circular motions above his head. Fire spurted out like a volcano, searing the undead bodies of the Inferi into ashes; they screamed their last cries in agony and several inmates dropped into the ocean by the crossfires of the Firestorm Charm.

The cemetery was in cinders, the remaining bodies burning over the kindling fire; the island was deathly quiet. A body was running towards Rosalind in the fog, frantically searching for her. Draco lifted her from the ashes. “What were you thinking, Morana? Rodolphous could have fucking killed you!” She fell into his chest, accidentally hugging him. She was trying to hold back the remaining sobs. “It’s alright," he said rubbing her back, surprised that she was holding onto him. “He’s gone. It’s alright.” 

“Where are the others?” she said finally. Her hands were still shaking and the blood on her face was crusting over. 

“They’re on the other side by the boat. It’s not looking too good.” 

They sprinted towards the other side of the island passing more bodies on the way. The fog hadn’t lifted at all, and the Aurors were still fighting the remaining prisoners, shackling them in invisible handcuffs. The wizard who managed the boat was lying on his face, dead. 

“What--what happened?”

“We’re not sure how the riot started,” Harry informed her. “The inmates attacked the guards, stealing their wands and hijacking the boat. The Death Eaters escaped.”

“So what does this mean? We can’t Apparate--” she stammered. 

“It means we’re stuck. We’re stranded here.” 

Rosalind’s heart dropped. Azkaban was Unplottable, impenetrable. No one would know they were there. They were marooned in the middle of nowhere with no way out.

**Dun dun dun, what are they going to do? This is one of my favorite chapters because we begin to see a small glimpse of Rosalind’s past life. Thank you so much for reading! A review or comments/predictions would be greatly appreciated :)**

**Next chapter: Papa Don’t Preach.**

  
  



	9. Papa Don’t Preach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m no Dark Wizard.”

**Chapter Nine** :  **Papa Don’t Preach**

**Chapter title taken from the Madonna song.**

**“I’m no Dark Wizard.”**

  
  


The glow of the inferno from the Firestorm Charm cindered the remaining signs of life to dust. Bodies of guards and inmates were being levitated into two piles: inmates were identified by tattoos on the back of their necks and the guards with their badges. The air was thick with dread and disappointment; not ever had Azkaban seen such a mass breakout, even when the Dark Lord was in power.

Harry sighed, pacing back and forth in frustration. A stream of cloudy mist spurted from his wand, forming a full grown fluorescent stag. He spoke to it as if it could hear him. “Find Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tell him there has been a mass breakout at Azkaban. Everyone from the department is alive but we are stranded. We need help.” The glowing Patronous nodded, then pranced away silently into the fog.

Harry faced his small band of comrades who were tending to their wounds. Breckenridge, Dawlish, and Lucille were burned severely, Ron and Hermione were mostly unhurt; Draco and Rosalind had several cuts on their faces, Rosalind’s clothes tattered from her fight with Rodolphus. 

“We need to inspect the inside of the prison. Something tells me we’re not the only survivors. I need volunteers.” He scanned his team, looking for anyone eager to join him.

Rosalind stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.” No one protested. Ron agreed to go as well, and the others stayed behind looking for the rest of the guards.

“Stay close,” Harry instructed. He led them inside, Rosalind in the middle and Ron at the back. There was hardly any light and no signs of existence. They passed carcass after carcass: most were ghostly pale from shock, others had their tattered uniforms shredded, others were filthy from suffocating in their own blood. Drops of water slithered through the falls, giving the hallways an eerier atmosphere; it was a more gruesome scene than the cemetery. At the very end of the hall there was one cell that hadn’t been tarnished, in fact it was almost completely unblemished. A body was sitting in the corner, a ray of moonlight flaring on the pale, pointed face. His hair was matted, grisly, his thin lips cracking from madness, his cold grey eyes haunted by ambition.

  
  


The wizard locked eyes with them but did not say a word. Harry ordered Ron to check the remaining cells of the prison.

“Good evening, Lucius,” he said sternly.

The man named Lucius almost did not answer. “Good evening, Mister Potter.”

“Why is it that all the former Death Eaters in this prison managed to escape except for you?” He gritted. ”Can you tell me how that happened?”

“I know nothing, Mister Potter. I am here repenting for my sins.” His voice was frigid, deadly calm, his hands in the air in mock defeat. “I did attempt to escape, I will admit, but none of my former friends seemed keen to assist me.”

Harry glared at him. “Where are the others? Did anyone else survive?”

Lucius shrugged, his palms still in the air. “I do not know. I saw nothing.”

Harry wasn’t convinced, turning to Rosalind. “Are you alright here with him? I need to talk to the other Auror’s—we can’t leave him here.” She nodded and Harry commanded the former Death Eater to behave himself.

Lucius positioned his body towards Rosalind’s. She didn’t say anything. After several minutes he grinned, a grin similar to Draco’s but sinister. 

He glanced at her badge. “Morana…you must be Draco’s new partner. I’ve heard he has been difficult to work with.”

Rosalind stared at the man she just realized was her partner’s father. “He’s not,” was all she managed to say.

“Really now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Just you wait until things become difficult. When the first sign of danger comes around don’t be surprised when Draco leaves you there to die.”

“Draco’s not the coward you believe him to be.”

Lucius scoffed. “It is unlikely he has changed his ways.” His voice lagged as he took his time to observe her. “Tell me, Miss Morana what is your blood status?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I can be curious, can I not? Entertain me--I am the lone survivor of a prison riot.”

“I’m a Pureblood,” she said, eying him. 

“Ahh,” he smiled. “Rodolphous was right.”

Rosalind’s lip quivered, her heart thudding against her chest. She couldn’t react to anything he said; she didn’t want to repeat what happened earlier.

Lucius widened his grin. “I didn’t know an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had the audacity to use an Unforgivable Curse. Not your first time I presume?” He asked casually.

Rosalind said nothing.

His laugh was biting, mordant. “Don’t be ashamed, dear girl. It’s rather thrilling is it not, to cause that kind of pain unto others? To see them suffer like they deserve?”

Her hand twitched on her wand, but again she said nothing. 

“Rodolphus spoke to me before he left. He will be looking for you.” He waited for her reaction but there was none. “That was quite the tussle you put up with him, I’m rather impressed. Not many witches or wizards have the capability to exert such force.” He sat up, his wrists creaking from immobility. “It’s a pity you didn’t study at Hogwarts. You would have made a fine Slytherin.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I’m no Dark Wizard Mister Malfoy.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said simply. “You do however need to be cunning and ambitious; clearly qualities you have. Nothing wrong with wanting to accomplish great feats in life.”

“I don’t have to trample on anyone’s toes to get there either.”

Lucius stood up to his full height. He and his son had the same stature. “You would be an admiral match for Draco,” he grinned. “Keep an eye on him, would you? Keep him out of trouble.” He laughed sarcastically, his platinum locks sticking to his skin. 

A creaking distracted her; Harry and the others were picking up the rotting carcasses. He flicked his wand at Lucius, who was immediately bound by invisible chains. “You’re coming with us. Unfortunately you are the only prisoner alive. We’ll need you for questioning once we get back to the Ministry.”

“And how do you propose we leave this place, Mister Potter?” he challenged.

Dawlish appeared before them. “There are no boats, no brooms, no mode of transportation,” he informed.

“I think I can help,” Rosalind spoke up. “I think I can manage a way for us to get out.”

The Aurors eyed her. “What do you need?” Harry asked.

“Iron. And cloth for a sail,” she answered thinking quickly. “I don’t think it’ll take too much time.” 

“Alright,” Harry said finally. “Do what you need to do, grab whatever you need. Let us know if you need any help.”

She nodded and left for the entrance. There were still several corpses and severed body parts laying around that the others had not gotten to yet. She had an idea, a morbid one but there was no other choice—she began to unclothe the bodies, exposing them to the harsh earth. They already reeked of rotten flesh, the putrefaction process beginning.

“Oh--!” Rosalind vomited; the unbearable smell was impossible to become accustomed to. The lifeless eyes of inmate 413 were staring blankly at her. She stripped him naked, along with the rest of his cellmates. She whisked her wand to glue the shabby rags together, ripping several more with her bare hands to form a rope.

_ “Incendio!” _ A flame jetted from her wand, melting the iron cell bars slowly. _ “Incendio maxima!” _ The intensity of the flame quadrupled, liquefying and falling to the floor like a waterfall. She proceeded to smelt the rest of the cells, making sure they did not harden until she was ready for them to.

“What are you doing?” an inquisitive voice asked.

Rosalind turned around. Draco was staring at the mangled bodies and burning metal completely confused.

“This isn’t what it looks like—“

“Are you making a bloody sail?” he blustered. “Out of dead mens’ clothing? Are you mad?”

“Well what else are we going to do, Draco?” she contended. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” he admitted. He looked crestfallen, like he was being left out. “Let me help you,” he said a moment later. “Please.”

Together they blasted away the iron ores, the heat blistering their hair and skin. Their faces were covered in soot and ashes; the smell of decomposing bodies was beginning to overbear them. Finally more than an hour later they transformed the giant lump of iron into a crude boat. It was hardly big enough to fit all of them but it would get the job done. They acquired more metal to make a mast and charmed the grim sail to it, flowing freely in the dense air.

“Not bad.” Draco nodded his approval. “Still bloody gruesome but it’ll get us out of here right?”

“I think so,” Rosalind said skeptically. “As long as we don’t go too far. Hopefully the Apparition Point is still intact.”

They plopped themselves onto the dirt, exhausted. Draco had an odd look on his face; unsure what to say.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing it’s just…” he stared off into space searching for the right words. “My father is over there with the others. I can’t go over there because he’ll say something to me and I don’t want to be accused of anything. And I don’t want to see him.” 

Rosalind looked into his sad, pale eyes. They were the same shade as his father’s yet completely different: they were the eyes of a lost boy who made all the wrong decisions. “He talked to me earlier,” she decided to say. “He saw my badge and knew who I was.”

His head perked up. “What did he say?”

“He said he heard you were difficult to work with. I defended you and told him you’re not the man he believes you to be.” Draco smiled slightly at the thought. "He mentioned something about Rodolphus, he said he’ll be looking for me. Then he told me I would have been a good Slytherin if I attended Hogwarts,” she added with a laugh.

Draco let out a small chuckle. “He’s probably right.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am not a Dark Wizard, thank you very much.”

“Hey neither am I!” He punched her in the arm. “Not all Slytherins are bad you know.”

“You think that’s funny?” She punched him back harder. “Then you’ll love what he said after that.”

“Oh yeah? What was it?”

Rosalind paused. “I don’t know if I should tell you. He was being dumb.”

“Come on. You can’t tease me like that.”

She frowned, swallowing her laugh. “He said that I would be an admiral match for you and asked me to keep you out of trouble.”

Draco’s mouth hung open, his tongue oscillating between which words to say. “He said that?” Rosalind nodded. “Maybe Azkaban made him a little soft.” He leaned closer to her. “Funny, he normally doesn’t like the girls I bring around. You must have made quite the impression on him.”

“He found out I used an Unforgivable Curse on a Death Eater. That’s not the impression I wanted to leave on someone’s parent I just met for the first time.”

“Yeah but how many people can say that?” He sat up, his back resting on the outside wall of the prison. “I bet you not even Potter would have the gall to do that.”

“I’m not proud of it,” she said, lowering her voice. “It’s not something I like to use often.”

Draco offered an awkward grimace to comfort her. “I know. Using those curses leaves a sinking hole in your heart, like it’s not something that’s meant to be done.” He lowered his head to look at her. “I had a hard time with the Cruciatus Curse. I barely managed to do it even when I was furious. I never even attempted the Killing Curse. I couldn’t get them to work.” 

“Never?” she asked, surprised. “You were a terrible Death Eater then.” 

“Of course I bloody was, I was a kid,” he retorted, slightly offended and amused. 

“Sorry,” she replied, swallowing her laugh. “I know that was a hard time for you. I shouldn’t say anything.”

He gave her a feeble grin. “It’s alright. It felt nice to talk about it.”

“You don’t have many friends do you?”

“I don’t.” He shook his head with a sigh. “They’re either dead or won’t speak to me.”

“It looks like we have some things in common,” she said, returning his grin. He frowned, interrupted by the Aurors and the remainder of the pack who had found them, except for Dawlish who must have been with Lucius. 

“Blimey,” Ron said, astonished looking at their handiwork. “You two made this?” They nodded and he took a closer look at the sails. “Ugh, why does this smell so filthy?” He touched the rope and inhaled the fumes.

“Ron, don’t touch—“

Ron’s eyes widened in disgust upon seeing the bare bodies by the entrance. “This is their—you used-? What are we--? What the—” His mouth hung agape at a loss for words. “I don’t know if this is mad or if it’s—“

“It’s brilliant,” Hermione said. “It’s foul, but it’s brilliant.” She examined the boat, stepping inside. It was completely solid. “You two work well together.”

Rosalind smiled. “Thanks,” she managed to say. “So what’s the plan?”

“Well we can’t do much about the bodies,” Harry said, helping them onto the boat. “We’re going to have to dump them into the ocean. Dawlish already recorded the list of the ones who perished; most of them don’t have living relatives anyways except for the guards. We’ll head back to the Apparition Point and I’ll take Lucius to the Ministry’s dungeons to question him further.” He shoved a disgruntled Lucius Malfoy onto the far edge of the boat, completely opposite from his son. He shot them a sliver of a smile when he saw he was standing next to Rosalind.

“What the hell is this?” Lucille asked in outrage. “There is no way I am stepping foot in that. We might as well die here.”

Ron shoved her into the mast, tattered rags slapping her in her face. “You do as you’re told, Officer. No questions.”

The boat creaked with the weight of its passengers; Hermione commandeered it to sail in the direction of the slab of rock. The air was still chilly, misty and bleak, with the sun beginning to peek over the horizon. They sailed into the daylight for half an hour, eventually thudding into the tiny enclave. It was completely abandoned, only left with signs of a struggle.

“Dammit,” Harry muttered. “They beat us here. That means they could be anywhere.”

“What do we do now?” Breckenridge asked.

“We head back to the Ministry and continue our search once I talk to the Minister,” he answered.

“You mean we don’t get to go home?” she groaned. “We’ve been working for more than a day straight—this can’t be legal.”

“I guess that’s what separates officers from Aurors,” Harry retorted sharply. “Aurors are accustomed to doing most of the work.”

The gargantuan woman threw him a look of disgust but didn’t say anything. Without another word they Apparated back to the Ministry of Magic, straight to the atrium.

It was early so the halls were quiet. No one had business there at almost five in the morning. Harry and Dawlish left for the lifts with Lucius, leaving the rest behind.

“I need you all back in our offices at nine,” he told them. “You’re free to do whatever you like until then.”

Lucille and Breckenridge had their arms crossed, annoyed looks on their faces. “I’m going to sleep,” she said, Disapparating into thin air.

Hermione turned to Draco and Rosalind. “Nice job today,” she said brightly. “Both of you, honestly. Don’t mind Harry, he gets a little cross when he’s stressed. Keep this up and you’ll be a Hit Wizard soon.” She smiled at Rosalind, leaving to grab a coffee with Ron.

Rosalind sighed as she and Draco grabbed a seat on the bench by the café, yawning widely. “What are you gonna do now?” she asked him, half awake.

“Don’t know. I should probably go home and sleep. What about you?”

“I’d love to sleep but I don’t think I can go home,” she said honestly. “Not after last night—I’m scared your friend Rodolphus might find me.”

“I doubt he’ll go looking for you anytime soon, he just escaped from prison.” He hunched his shoulders into the back of the bench. “But he’ll find you if he wants to.”

“Thanks. That’s so reassuring.” 

“If it helps I have room at my place,” he offered. “If you want, I mean,” he added quickly seeing the quizzical look she gave him. “At least for the next few hours. I won’t make you sleep on the couch this time.”

She gave him a skeptical look. "That’s probably the best option I’ve got. Thanks for that.” 

Draco extended his hand, palm upwards. She took it and the atrium turned black, seconds later they were back at his apartment. A mirror was facing them in the living room and they took a good look at themselves for the first time in almost twenty four hours. 

"Oh Merlin," Rosalind said as she examined the cuts and bruises on her face. "I look terrible."

Draco laughed, throwing a towel at her face. "I've seen worse. You can take a shower if you want, I’ll grab you some clothes you can borrow."

She walked to the bathroom and turned on the tap, noticing the pattern he had throughout his apartment: green and silver embroidered near everything he owned, like the House of Slytherin. She undressed herself, washing her clothes first before stepping into the shower. It was rather large and could definitely fit two people in it. The cool water was a breath of fresh air on her face, wiping away any signs of the skirmish from the night before. The shampoo smelled of peppermint, like Draco often did. She heard a knock while she was showering and Draco mentioned something about leaving dry clothes on the sink. A few minutes later she threw her hair into a towel and slipped into Draco’s button down flannel. 

She stepped out of the bathroom wearing his favorite flannel, fastening the six or seventh button. She was scrunching her hair with the towel, accentuating her curls, a distracted Draco turning around quickly. 

"Hello? Did you hear me?" she asked. "I said you forgot to give me pants."

"What? Oh yeah, sorry." He threw a pair of gym shorts as she mumbled her thanks and he moved for his turn in the shower. 

Draco showered quickly, the water accentuating his exhaustion. He walked into his bedroom with a towel around his waist, Rosalind sound asleep in his bed, slipping under the covers quietly once he had changed. 

Rosalind’s heart thudded against her chest as the bed sank with Draco’s weight on it. It had been ages she had been in bed with another human and it was her coworker of all people. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. 

Draco remained awake. There was too much on his mind. He wanted to know what his father's fate would be but then again didn't want to know anything at all; some things were better left unsaid. Lucius didn't even acknowledge him when they saw each other, he probably didn't want anything to do with him. He rolled over on his side, eyes itching with sleep. He was exhausted. Rosalind's face was facing the middle of the bed as he was, her plump lips forming an exaggerated pout. He turned his back to her and fell asleep. 

At eight o'clock Draco carefully slid from his covers and slipped into the kitchen. He turned on the stove and began to fry some bacon while crepes cooked slowly on the skillet. The strawberries began to slice themselves and floated themselves onto the crepes that were ready, and syrup cascaded itself onto the dish. He poured himself a glass of juice and one for Rosalind. 

The smell of food penetrated her nostrils, awakening her. Rosalind stretched her limbs, groaned and walked into the small dining room. She completely forgot she was in Draco's clothes and that his gym shorts had fallen off in her sleep. 

Draco raised an eyebrow upon seeing her. "Good morning. I recall you asking me for pants earlier,” he grinned. “If you didn't like them you could've used a different pair.” 

Rosalind looked down at her bare lower body and her eyes bulged so wide she was sure they were going to pop out. "I’m sorry!" She moaned. "I always end up taking my clothes off when I sleep because I get hot." She trotted back into the bathroom, shirt half unbuttoned. Draco catching himself in a smirk. 

A few seconds later she emerged in the same outfit from the night before: form fitting black trousers and a grey ruffled shirt, her hair air dried into its natural curly form. 

"Good morning," she said, trying to sound better than she felt. "Thanks for letting me stay over to sleep." 

"Don't mention it." He set her plate on the table and grabbed the seat in front of her. 

"Do you always make breakfasts like these?" She asked after her first bite. “You’re two for two.”

"Only when the mood strikes." He sipped his pumpkin juice. "So not very often."

"Two weeks in a row is pretty frequent," she observed. 

"Because I had guests. I'm not going to let someone under my roof starve," he said rather fatherly. 

She smiled. "You'd make a good house elf."

His frown turned into a grin. “Only one of the two of us is the same size as a house elf and it’s not me.” 

“I’m not even short!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “You just  _ happen _ to be tall!” 

“Damn, hit a nerve there I see,” he laughed as he cut his crepe open. “Don’t be using any Unforgivable Curses on me too.” 

“Only if you deserve it,” she rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist and stinging Draco’s kneecap. 

“You think you’re funny do you?” He said rubbing his knee, shooting his own counter jinx at her. “You’re not the only one who can throw jinxes.” 

“I’m hilarious,” she said dryly, the skin on her arm burning. 

“Not as funny as me,” he responded as her body flipped upside down, suspended from the ceiling. 

“You bastard!” she yelped, arms flailing as she struggled to catch her wand, shooting another jinx at him. 

Draco’s legs pooled into the ground from her jelly legs jinx, crawling on the floor to grab his own wand. 

“Put me down!” she yelled as he continued to crawl towards her. 

“You put me down!” 

“No!” he said instinctively, Rosalind feeling her breakfast beginning to make its way back up her esophagus. “Fine we both will on the count of three. One, two, three!”

Their eyes close waiting for the jinxes to be lifted, Rosalind’s still hung upside down, Draco’s legs still mush. 

“You didn’t do it!” Rosalind exclaimed, blood rushing to her face. “Why didn’t you do it!” 

“Because I didn’t think you’d do it!” Draco said, still crawling. “Fine, this time we’ll actually do it--one, two, three!” 

Draco’s legs solidified as Rosalind began to fall from the ceiling, Draco quickly muttering a spell to soften her fall. Her body was parallel to his, face inches from each other’s, her body hovering in mid air. Their eyes connected, both breathing heavily, a long moment passing as their chests heaved in sync, a spark of unknown emotion burning through their bodies. 

“You put up a good fight,” he breathed. 

“You’re not the first guy who’s thought he could man handle me.”

He shook his head with a grin, waving his wand to set her down next to him. Rosalind stood, patting her blouse and flipping her hair as Draco eyed her. 

“Where did you learn to use those?” he asked as casually as he could. “Unforgivable Curses I mean.” 

Her eyes flashed anger that he had dared to ask her. Draco almost muttered an apology when she decided to speak. “No one taught me...not exactly,” she responded, avoiding his gaze. “The first time I used one was on impulse and had no idea it would work. After that it was as needed which sometimes was frequent.” She spoke her words slowly, as if they were poisonous. “I was very angry. For a long time. I harnessed my anger in the worst way possible because that was all I knew.” 

"Oh...I see," he drummed his fingers on the table, still eyeing her.. "I was taught by my Aunt Bellatrix. She was the most ruthless person I knew. She lived and breathed to torture people. She got sent to Azkaban for it." 

“Did you ever get sent to Azkaban?” 

“No, thankfully,” he said, adjusting his watch. “My father obviously was a different story and was in too deep. My mother was never involved and actually helped Potter so that helped me as well.”

“Helped how?” 

“By lying to the Dark Lord. She asked Potter if I was alive and he told her yes, so she lied to him and said he was dead to save him in return.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Your mother loves you.” 

“That she does,” he said stiffly. “A little too much at times.” He glanced at his watch, minutes from nine o’clock. “Shall we?” He offered his hand but she took his arm instead, suddenly filled with the warmth of the realization that Draco had not judged her, had not looked at her any different as he did before. She held her breath for the painful ride, thankful she finally had a friend. 

**Next chapter: Mothers of the Disappeared**

  
  
  



	10. Mothers of the Disappeared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s go. Do what you do best.”

**Chapter title taken from the U2 song.**

**_“Let’s go. Do what you do best.”_ **

**Author’s note: The massacre at El Mozote is a tragic event that occurred during El Salvador’s civil war. On December 11th, 1981, a U.S. trained and funded battalion of the Salvadoran Army slaughtered more than 800 people--mainly indigenous, over half were children, and the majority were either women, elderly, or children. Although it is an absolutely dark moment in history, it is what inspired this chapter. For purposes of the timeline of this story it is set several years back.**

**December 11, 1997. El Salvador.**

A tattered, blood-stained dress pokes through the dirt, dust blowing fragments of bone into the wind. A small skull accompanies it, eroded with time, only leaving several jagged teeth and a partially intact skull. The former carcass wasn’t alone; surrounding it were mounds of what appeared to be dirt, but upon closer look I saw deformed bodies with their torsos broken, arms raised in surrender before their death, the ghosts of their final moments hanging in limbo. 

_“Que paso aquí?”_ I ask. “What happened here?” 

“A massacre.” Ernesto’s voice unusually quiet. “Muggle helicopters flew in, ordered the villagers out of their homes and into the main square. They made them lie face down, searched them, questioned them about the guerrillas which they knew nothing about, then ordered them to lock themselves in their houses or they would get shot. The next day they had everyone in the square again, separated the men from the women and the children, locking them in the church. They interrogated and tortured the men, killing them out of frustration that they gave them no information. Once they finished with them they moved onto the women--gunning them down with Muggle machine guns after assaulting them. And these _desgraciadios_ left the children for last.” He took a jagged breath, wiping his eye in attempt to stop a tear. “They slaughtered them by slitting their throats or hanging them from trees.” 

“Wh-what?” My breakfast lurched into my throat. “Why? Who would do something like this?” 

“Your people,” he said darkly. 

“Other Salvadorans?”

“No.” He shook his head with a dry laugh. _“Gringos._ Americans. In the name of capitalism to wipe out communism.” 

I stare at him in shock. “We’ve never--I’ve never heard of this.”

“Of course you haven’t. They wouldn’t teach that in school. It’s not just here either it’s all over Central America--wars funded by American dollars.” 

“That’s disgusting,” I said choking back my breakfast. 

“And don’t even get me started on the massacre in 1932.” He wiped his forehead with a bandana from his pocket, the blistering humidity drenching our clothes. “The _campesinos_ and other peasants were devastated by the Great Depression and it was impossible for them to live off their wages. They sought help for a rebellion, but the president ordered them to be gunned down. But it didn’t end there. Over 40,000 people died in total, almost entirely wiping out the indigenous population.” He sighed, taking a good look at me. “You’d be safe though.” 

“Why? Because I’m a mestiza? I’m indigenous too,” I retorted. 

“But you don't necessarily look it,” he explained. “What happens when you walk into a room full of people who don’t look like you?” 

“They stare I suppose,” I respond scratching my head. “I don’t notice it all the time.” 

“Because it has mainly benefited you.”

My eyebrows furrowed, taking in his features: his slightly darker complexion, jet black hair, flat nose, and wide eyes. Features I always found beautiful, like my father’s, yet I don’t have. 

“Oh,” was all I managed to say. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it that way.” 

“Must be nice.” His knuckles clenched, angry at what the villagers had suffered. “These people were guilty only of trying to better their lives. Yet they were murdered for the way they looked and for seeking help.” He choked back a sob, wiping his face. “We’re doing good work here. We’re doing what we can.” 

I stare at him in sorrow. “We are.” My heart aches in guilt and anger; guilt over feeling I could not do more to help, and anger that innocent lives had been lost in the first place. 

Ernesto hands me a photograph of a glowering face, smile broadened into an evil grin, concealed slightly from the cigarette dangling from his mouth. 

“Jose Figueroa,” he answers. “He’s a human trafficker. When people don’t pay up he kidnaps and tortures, and his victims end up looking similar to our _compadres_ here. He is one of the worst people that walk this earth.” His teeth grind, and he turns to me. “We’re heading to San Salvador to watch him for a few days. Learn his moves, what he likes.” His palm faces up, I take hold as we are whisked away to the country’s capital. 

***

Jose Figueroa is taller than I expect, with broad muscular shoulders, expensive boots, and perfectly coiffed hair. He doesn’t flaunt his money, instead subtly expresses it through his simple yet expensive clothing. He sits at the bar with two comrades, puffing cigars and ogling at the women passing by. Ernesto and I have charmed the area so we can hear their conversations as if they are next to us, while still holding our own. 

“Look at that _nena_ ,” Jose puffs, whistling at a voluptuous woman with long dark hair. Her lips quiver into a smile: excited he has noticed her, yet afraid of who he is. He extends his hand to her and brushes his lips against the top of hers, pulling her closer. Their conversations are nothing important, just gossiping with his friends and buying round after round for the young woman, his hands slowly sliding down her body. 

“That’s so creepy.” I barely manage to keep a straight face. “And uncomfortable.” 

“She knows who he is,” Ernesto stirs his drink with his finger. “But who is she to say no to the man who runs the city?” 

I grimace as I down my drink and wave to the bartender for another. “That’s the saddest part. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” 

We observe the men flirt with her, Jose pulling her onto his lap, caressing her face. He isn’t terrible looking, he is fact quite handsome, a deadly combination that I loathe: attractive, wealthy, and powerful. Eventually he nods to his friends as they leave the bar and head upstairs, the charms still intact so we can hear every word out of his mouth. 

“Please don’t make me listen to that.”

Ernesto frowns, muttering the counter-charm so I can keep an eye out for his friends. Even he begins to look uncomfortable the longer they are gone, twiddling with his glass. “Anything useful from the _pendejos_ over there?” 

I shake my head. “No. Just talking about going to bed soon.” 

Ernesto’s ears perk up. “He’s done. They’re heading back down here.” I am barely able to restrain myself from jerking my head in the direction of the rickety stairs, instead watching as the young woman heads to the exit alone, fresh marks on her throat and face as Jose greets his friends like he never left. 

I clench my fist as Ernesto extends a brotherly arm. It is our third night tailing him and he always has the same routine: hit the bar at 8:00 p.m., have a few rounds with his friends, find the most attractive woman, flirt with her, and take her upstairs. He has a type--curvy, young, and beautiful. 

_“Vamonos.”_ I almost leap out of the barstool, walking in front of Ernesto before our short walk to our safe Apparition point, my fists still clenched in anger. 

***

“Look at you,” Ernesto almost laughs upon seeing my newly uncovered face and figure. One of our members has Transfigured me almost unrecognizable, with fuller lips, straightened hair, and a generous amount of cleavage. 

“Shut up,” I roll my eyes. “You know I hate the uncovering because you always laugh at me.” 

“I know I can’t help it,” he grabs my shoulder in attempt to stop himself. “I’m sorry.” He nods to another one of our members who’s accompanying us. “Seriously. We’ll be close by in that same bar acting like we don’t know you. We’ll intervene in case anything happens.”

“I can handle him,” I say with a furrowed brow. 

Ernesto smiles. “I know. Let’s go. Do what you do best.” 

**Hello! I like slipping in flashbacks of Rosalind’s past, although they are a tad short for now. She was a cop in El Salvador (kind of), which will become clearer soon. As always, thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: Love the Way You Lie.**


	11. Love the Way You Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That's the beauty of love, isn't it? Once you're bit by the bug the person seems absolutely perfect." 

**Chapter Eleven:** **Love the Way You Lie**

**Song title taken from the Eminem & Rihanna song.**

**_“That's the beauty of love, isn't it? Once you're bit by the bug the person seems absolutely perfect."_ ** ****

The Azkaban fiasco had the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Ministry on edge, triggering rumors and quiet chaos. A department-wide meeting was to be held in the Auror’s Office, with Harry and Dawlish arriving barely on time, still murky from the night before and utterly exhausted. 

Harry headed to the front of the room, a room full of gloomy eyes greeting his. “Good morning everyone,” he began suppressing a yawn. “As you may already know, our team was attacked by an unknown perpetrator last night as we were patrolling Azkaban; it unfortunately resulted in the death of several inmates and guards along with the escape of many high-profile criminals, including former Death Eaters. There was one survivor however, who is being held here at the Ministry. Dawlish has done an excellent job interrogating him and we will update everyone on any news when we can.”

Murmurs swept the room with many suspicious looks darted to Draco, whose jaw was tensing. “Since so many criminals are at large, I am requesting that everyone work more hours until we at least have some leads to their capture. My team that consisted of Dawlish, Granger, Weasley and other officers will be working a half day until noon due to the extensive amount of work from last night. Everyone else will receive notice of their change of schedules. Any questions?” A few groans and signs erupted but no question, prompting Harry to dismiss them. 

Rosalind zombied over to her desk, fighting the urge to lay her head down. Breckenridge and Lucille were napping with their eyes halfway open, and another wizard was snoring loudly in the corner. Rosalind dipped her quill in the bottle of ink, scanning the form for her report. The majority of the questions were general but become specific, requiring her to list every spell she used and what was used against her. What would happen if she were honest? She could make it look like she acted defensively, since there was no way to prove exactly what happened during the skirmish. But then again Hermione saw what she did and she was pretty sure she would rat her out if she had the chance. She saw that Bowen was heading to his office and acted quickly, knowing she had to execute this right. 

Rosalind knocked on his door firmly, smiling shyly through his window. He looked up while reading a file and smiled widely, waving for her to come in. "Ah Miss Rosalind! Come in come in, make yourself at home." She stepped in carefully letting the door swing shut behind her. "Please, take a seat. You have a question I presume?" 

Rosalind nodded, holding her breath. "Yes Captain Bowen, I was filling out my report from last night's escapade and got a little stuck on the last section dealing with the spells that were used." She clears her throat, voice shaky. "I'm trying really hard to remember everything but I can’t seem to remember it all--I’m exhausted--but there was a stressful moment when I lost my composure on a former Death Eater." Bowen's brow furrows, eager for more details. "He attacked me sir, twice and the second time he was armed with a wand. He started to use Unforgivable Curses against me and I panicked...I didn’t know what to do and in the process I performed the first spell that came to mind and that was the Cruciatis Curse," her voice falters, a tear glistened down the corner of her eyes. "I had no idea I had it in me—but I was just so scared for my life I didn't know what else to do." She looked down sheepishly, gazing at the brooch on his cloak. 

Bowen's face grew solemn. For a second Rosalind feared the worst, that she was going to get fired on the spot. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit,_ she thought. _I knew this was a bad idea._

The portly man's face turned clammy, shocked by the news. "That is a grave realization, Miss Morana," he finally said, his normally cheerful tone gone. "It takes a lot of hatred and pure madness to generate a Cruciatis Curse; most wizards can't even bear the thought of causing such pain onto another. I appreciate your honesty Rosalind and normally there would be sanctions for this, but this was a different circumstance. I believe that you are doing the noble thing by coming into my office and confessing." He leans forward and lowers his voice. "But between you and I, it is best that you do not mention your use of the Curse at all—it is best to leave that blank." He looks into her eyes for a quick second before sitting in his normal position. "Anyway," he continues less somberly, "You have been doing a fine job here at the Ministry these last few weeks and we are very pleased with you. Keep up the good work." He smiles and his door opens, her cue to leave. "Don't hesitate to speak to me with any more questions or concerns!" 

Rosalind nods, remembering to smile genuinely. "Thank you so much Captain Bowen, I appreciate this so much." He tells her not to mention it and she turns on her heel to leave, breathing a sigh of relief. She had almost forgotten how easy that was. She felt slightly guilty about lying but she didn't technically lie. Rodolphus did attack her twice and he did deserve what she did to him, even if he didn't strike her with a Curse first. It was just a white lie—no one was hurt by it. 

She sat down at her desk, the last two hours passing slowly. The Azkaban team is exhausted and stressed and the rest of the department was frantic. _The Daily Prophet_ was going to get a hold of what happened soon and they didn't want the bad publicity; the wizarding world was just beginning to relax that the Dark Lord was finally gone, this would cause a frenzy. At the first stroke of noon Rosalind packed her belongings and headed straight to the door, almost crazed without sleep. 

She and Draco walked the halls together in silence. The lift jerked causing her to fall back into his chest. He held her for a second longer than he intended, inhaling a familiar scent of peppermint. Rosalind glanced up at him, a mischievous smile forming on her lips. The golden grilles open and they walked together through the atrium, Draco dragging his feet behind her. 

"Are you heading home?" he manages to ask.

Rosalind doesn’t appear to hear him. A lanky, ginger headed gentleman was standing by the fountain waiting for her. 

"George?" she asked as a huge grin spread over her face, her pace quickening. "What are you doing here?"

The young man beams down at her, pulling her into an embrace. "I got word that you were going to be let off early today," he said with a broad smile. 

"Who told you that?" 

"I do have a brother and father that work for the Ministry, you know." He didn't even seem to notice that Draco was there, whose jaw was beginning to tense. 

"Oh yeah," Rosalind laughed. "You're right. Oh!" She turned to Draco and dragged him by the elbow. "I'm not sure if you two know each other but Draco this is George Weasley, the guy I was telling you about."

Draco stood up to his full height, right at George's eyebrows. George was taller but Draco’s shoulders were broader. They didn't say anything to each other for a long moment, Draco breaking the silence first. 

“We’ve met before.” 

George had a glimmer of hatred in his eyes but compressed his emotions. "Would you like to grab a bite to eat? I was hoping I could see you for a bit today, I have someone else running the shop right now for me." His torso shifted away from the blonde haired man, boxing him out. 

"I'd love to." Rosalind smiled then leaned over to Draco. "See you tomorrow, right?"

He raised his brow trying to hide his annoyance. "Yeah. See you tomorrow Morana." She opened her mouth to say goodbye but he had already turned the other way. She shrugged and left with George, who put his arm around her. 

Draco observed them from a distance before he Apparated. What did she see in him? They looked so odd together. She could do better. He ignored the strange pit of annoyance in his stomach before heading home. 

***

"Where are we going?" Rosalind asked. 

"I was thinking we could grab some desserts to take home and watch those Muggle motion pictures," he answered thoughtfully. "I know you're beat from what happened last night."

"You got that right," she laughed. They stopped by the ice cream parlor grabbing gelato, cookies, and hot chocolate then headed to George's flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. 

It was very modest: the walls and floor were the same sandpaper color; the decorations were mostly various drawings from loyal customers or an odd trinket from a junk shop; the kitchen, living, dining and bedroom were all merged into the same room like a studio. A bed sat in the far corner, candles floating above it in a straight line giving it a cozy feeling. 

Rosalind glanced at a collage of two identical wizards through the ages, ranging from birth to nineteen years old. "You and Fred were absolutely identical," she observed.

George chuckled. "No, I was definitely the more handsome of the two. But I sure do miss him." He sighed then turned his gaze to Rosalind, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hello beautiful," he said sweetly. 

She smiled timidly. "Hello." 

"Come here," he motioned for her to come closer to him, pulling her to his chest. He looked into her eyes, slowly cupping the back of her head nearer to his. She closed her eyes and their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss. He grinned, barely able to contain his excitement. "So now that we have properly said hello, shall we start on dessert?" She laughed and they dug in, sitting on his small couch. 

"So what did you tell Malfoy about me?" George asked curiously. 

Rosalind laughed. "Nothing really, he just knows we've been on a few dates."

"And you didn't tell him how devilishly handsome and charming I am? How rude."

She smiled. "I told him you're a really sweet guy."

"Ah so you really did talk about me." He swirled his caramel apple gelato and took large bites, not looking at her. "I didn't know you two were friends."

There was that word again. _Friends._ "We work together. We're partners. I don't know if we're exactly friends," she admitted. 

George looked pleased with her answer. "That's good. You should keep it that way," he said casually. 

Rosalind furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Let's just say that his lot isn't the friendliest around and love to murder people for the fun of it."

"Are you talking about his dad being a Death Eater? They don't even talk to each other anymore," she said defensively. 

"He's a former Death Eater himself Rosie, he's a selfish little git that will only save his neck when in danger," he replied in a terse tone. 

"He didn't kill anyone, he was basically forced to do everything he did," she retorted. 

"He told you that?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes, I did." 

George licked his spoon, eating the remaining gelato. "I still don't like him." He flicked his wand and Banished the trash into the garbage bin, sighing. "But enough about Malfoy, I want to spend time with you." He leaned over and planted a kiss on her nose. 

Rosalind smiled stiffly, feeling odd. It bothered her that George wasn't fond of Draco but she had no idea of their history. He popped a movie in his DVD player and relaxed onto his bed. 

"Are you coming or do I have to convince you to join me?"

Rosalind eyed him and shrugged. "I don't know. I might need some convincing."

George smirked, standing inches from her face. "I think you'll find that I can be rather convincing."

"Try me," she challenged. 

He looked at her lips, closing in on them in a passionate kiss. She laced her fingers through his hair as he gripped her thighs and deepened the kiss. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his torso while he pushed her up against the wall, kissing her neck all the way down to her lower collarbone and up again. She moaned, pulling him closer and tightening her grip on him; he thrust her against his bed, kissing her intensely, quickly and ravenously. 

"Oh George..." She whispered as he sucked at the sensitive skin around her sides and navel. 

He kissed her slowly, making his way back up to her neck and mouth again. He licked the insides of her lips, grazing her teeth before she opened her mouth and the kiss was deepened once more. 

George stopped, noticing Rosalind's heavy breathing. "Told you I could be rather convincing,” he said with a lopsided grin.

"Oh so you're done kissing me now?" she teased. 

"No," he whispered. "I'm not done with you yet." He lunged his body onto hers, rocking his torso and pelvis against her own. Their breathing became ragged, their hearts were almost beating in sync; there was a rush of electricity and passion between them. 

By the time they stopped kissing each other the movie was halfway over; Rosalind's hair was a mess as well as George's. She rolled on her side and faced him. "Don't stop kissing me," she said softly. 

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. "It only gets better with time, I promise." 

"You sound awfully confident," she observed. 

George smiled, moving his body beside hers. "I'm full of surprises," he said casually. "So don't you go too crazy once you fall in love with me." 

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?" she asked with a small laugh. 

He stretched his limbs then wriggled closer to her. "Because up until recently you didn’t think you deserved it. I’m here to show you that you do and how wonderful it is.” 

Her stomach fluttered. “How do you do it?” She says with a blush. “Know exactly what to say to give me butterflies?” 

George grins, caressing her face. “Because you give them to me too.” He gazes at her intently, the reflection of the TV in his eyes. “When we’re together I forget about all the troubles I had before I met you.” 

Rosalind was smiling so wide she could barely see. "So do I. You sound too good to be true," she said honestly. 

George laughed, pulling her onto his chest. "I know. But that's the beauty of love, isn't it? Once you're bit by the bug the person seems absolutely perfect." He gazed into her twinkling eyes, kissing her forehead. 

"I don't even know what to say," she said genuinely. "This is just so different--I’ve never felt so happy around someone before. This is just--” Her hands gripped his, searching for the right words. "I don't know. I have no words. Everything just feels incredible when I'm with you."

"Good." He took both her hands, bringing them to his lips for a kiss, gazing into her eyes. "You don't have anything to worry about with me."

She grins, heart still fluttering. "I know." 

He smiled. "You'll get used to it. In the meantime, you should probably get some rest, I do have to go back to work soon but we can take a nap if you'd like."

"I'd like that," she said quietly. She tucked her head in the nook under his arm, set her hand over his chest and closed her eyes. George kissed her on the forehead once more and drifted into a light sleep. 

Hours later Rosalind awoke by herself. She sat up dazed and saw a note on the kitchen counter along with a tray of sandwiches and tea. She rubbed her eyes and read the thin, elegant writing:

_There was an incident at the shop and I didn't want to wake you. I have some food for you on the counter so make yourself at home. Feel free to make one last stop downstairs before you say goodbye. I can't wait to see you again._

_Regards,_

_George_

Rosalind smiled, still elated. She couldn’t get enough of George. She grabbed her belongings and headed downstairs for one last look. 

The stairs led to the back of the shop by the registers. A young, annoyed looking witch was ringing up a customer and Rosalind could see George by the Love Potions, coercing a girl to buy them. She observed him from afar and when the girl left with a box he winked at her to let her know it was okay to talk. 

"I see you're convincing in more ways than one," she said to him. 

He shrugged in fake modesty. "I am a salesman love, it's my job to make sure I am the best around."

Her heart thumped. _Love._ It sounded natural. "There you go being cocky again," she teased. 

George grinned. He mouthed the words, "Follow me," and led them to the storage room. He pulled her into an embrace. "I apologize for being unromantic but I can't exactly be affectionate in front of customers," he explained. "And I know you have to go so I'll try to be quick."

Rosalind looked up into his big brown eyes. They were shinning with happiness, emphasizing his laugh lines. "Thank you for being so sweet to me."

"You deserve it," he said gently. He pulled her chin and kissed her slowly, Rosalind standing on her tippy toes to fully reach him. Their lips parted and she hugged him tight. 

"I'll see you soon?" she asked quietly. 

"Sooner than you think." He held her hand and kissed it. "Come back over tonight. I’ll owl you." 

Rosalind gave him one last smile and headed home. In her lovely trance she almost forgot about the warning she had received last time she was there. She walked the perimeter and blasted protective and revealing spells to double check everything was alright before walking inside. 

The apartment was eerily quiet. Nothing looked like it had been moved; she wished there was a spell for knowing who had been where in certain areas. She searched and searched the flat but found nothing so she had to conclude that no one had been there but she still felt uneasy. Maybe it was paranoia, maybe it was gut intuition; something wasn't completely right. It was clear no one had been inside, but what if they were following her everywhere? She began to sweat at the thought. No, no, she was overreacting. If she felt unsafe for another few days she would tell someone at work, she decided. That felt like a good idea. Hopefully she was wrong and she was not being targeted, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

**Should Rosalind have lied to Bowen or was it not a big deal? Let me know what you guys think! I know this was a rather fluffy chapter, but I love how sweet George is to her. He’ll come back soon. Thank you so much for reading!**

**Next chapter: Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?**


	12. Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So he's just a friend you song?"

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

**MINISTRY TRIES TO COVER UP MASS AZKABAN BREAKOUT—SEVERAL DEATH EATERS AT LARGE**

_Yesterday evening reliable sources confirmed the worst: Azkaban prison has been infiltrated by Dark Wizards and a mass breakout ensued. A messy patrol was led by the Chosen One himself, Mister Harry Potter and his most trusted yet questionable officers. Aurors Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and John Dawlish accompanied the Boy Who Lived along with patrol officers Lucille Wright, Elowen Breckenridge, former Death Eater Draco Malfoy and American newcomer Rosalind Morana. Several inmates perished in the fight, along with all guards on duty. No word as of yet how or what caused the jailbreak but there have been whispers that young Malfoy was involved, since his father Lucius was the lone survivor. Minister Shacklebolt and Potter have been mum on the subject, avoiding the press as usual._

Draco threw the _Prophet_ into the fire, watching the flames eat away at the paper and curling the edges. The article was no surprise but he was angry that it mentioned him at all. He had nothing to do with the breakout. At least the blunt of the blame was being put on Potter so that was a slight relief.

Porcelain chinked on the table and a chair screeched behind him. The woman’s long slender arms coiled around Draco’s upper body, caressing his hair and kissing the top of his head. “What’s wrong Draco?” she cooed.

“Nothing,” he lied. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re shutting me out again," she pleaded. "Please don’t do this."

She attempted to touch him but he pushed her arm away and began pacing in front of the fireplace, clenching his fists. “I don’t know what to do,” he began, gripping his platinum locks. “They’re going to start watching me more carefully at work, they’re going to think I am up to something simply because he’s alive.” A spark flew from his wand. “They’re going to blame me. I know it. They’re going to jump to conclusions…” His voice trails off, saddening. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The woman hesitated, trying to find the right words to comfort him. “Draco calm down it will be alright—“

“No it will not be alright Mother!” He snapped, his voice echoing throughout the manor’s walls. “They watch me all the fucking time, I know they do—they’re just waiting for the right moment to sack me.”

Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes lowered to the floor. “Let’s not dwell on what could happen,” she said quietly. “Instead let us focus on the present, on what is in front of us.” She reached out a hand to him and he softened at her touch. “Your father is alive, Draco, be thankful for that.”

His posture stiffened again. He was not sure if that brought him amenity or disdain. “What does that matter?” He said fiercely. “It’s not like he’ll speak to his only son or anything.”

“Your father is stressed,” Narcissa said gently, caressing his arm. “He was imprisoned in that godforsaken place for much too long. I have faith that he will be home soon.” She tried to look into his pale grey eyes but he was averting her.

“What happens if he does?” he asked softly. “What becomes of us?”

“We’ll be a family again,” Narcissa said simply.

Draco scoffed. “A family? What about the rest of the Death Eaters that escaped? Do you honestly think that they’re not plotting something? Something that doesn’t involve us?”

Narcissa’s lips tightened. “We will worry about that when the time comes.” She kissed the side of his head and departed for her bedroom.

Draco’s hands were still clenched, his knuckles fading into a deathly white; he was shaking terribly. He slammed his fist into the wall and crimson liquid appeared in droplets, slithering to the ground. His mother had been like this since the war ended: always trying to focus on the present instead of being anxious about the future. In a matter of speaking it made sense but it also made it difficult to talk to her. He clutched the sides of the wall, repeatedly slamming his fists and gripping his teeth. He was stupid for taking a job at the Ministry, stupid for actually believing they would see through his past, stupid for trying to be the good person that he believed he was. _All I am is a coward,_ he thought. _A bloody, fucking coward._ Everyone around him seemed to believe that he only cared about himself, what difference did it make if he tried to prove them wrong? No one cared, no one was looking--no one saw his achievements but the world saw his mistakes.

He carefully treaded over to his mother’s room on the far side of the manor. They normally had the great windows opened, the light shining through the magnificent home but since his father was imprisoned Narcissa kept the house bleak. The door was open ajar and he stepped inside: she was sitting on her grandiose four poster bed, back against the headboard. She was clutching a pillow to her chest, her long platinum and brunette locks brushing her face. Her normally bright blue eyes were hollow, tears glistening down her usually arrogant face. Her beauty was fading, carving itself into her misery.

“Mother…” Draco said slowly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”

She didn’t answer for several seconds, still staring blankly at the foot of the bed, dreaming about the life they used to have. “It’s alright," she whispered without glancing at him. "I understand. Working at the Ministry has been stressful for you." She constricted her breath, holding back tears.

Draco sat next to her, approaching her slowly. He held her tightly and tried to calm her down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better son.”

Naricissa’s eyes glistened. “You think you’re a disappointment Draco?” She asked rhetorically. “You are a Malfoy, blood purer than that of any other Pureblood; you were a Hogwarts prefect, part of the Inquisitorial Squad, servant to the Dark Lord and now working for the Ministry. And you think you’re a disappointment?”

“I’m a coward, Mother. I didn’t finish the job I was given,” he said dryly. “I have amounted nothing in my life.”

Narcissa shook her head, giving a mordant laugh. “You have done much more than others have. I’ve been proud of you whatever you chose Draco, as long as you are happy.”

He had to hold back a stiff laugh. _Happy._ The word sounded odd to him; when was the last time he was happy? It seemed as if he was always worried about letting his father down, worried that he would be a failure.

“I love you, son,” she said quietly.

He attempted to smile. “I love you too, Mother.”

Narcissa sat up straight, smoothing her composure. “This is no time to be upset,” she said as she wiped away her tears, voice rising. “We need to be happy and thankful.” She huffed some air trying as hard as she could to look complacent. “So, how has work been besides the fiasco at Azkaban? Have you been assigned to work with anyone new yet?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. “I’m partnered with the American.”

“The one that was in the _Prophet?_ What is she?”

“American,” he repeated.

She threw him a stern, motherly look. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s a Pureblood,” he grumbled.

Narcissa smiled. “Oh I knew there was a reason why I liked her. She’s quite beautiful isn’t she? You two would make a handsome pair.”

“We work together Mother, that would be unprofessional,” Draco replied quickly.

“But you haven’t denied that you think she’s beautiful.”

He sighed. He had walked into a trap. “I suppose she’s not bad.”

It was Narcissa’s turn to laugh. “Don’t be unreasonable Draco. I’m sure your father would say the same.”

“They already met.” 

She raised her brow. “Did they? Where did she meet him?”

“In Azkaban,” he said bitterly. “She was the first to talk to him after the riot.”

“What did he say?” she demanded, friendly tone gone.

“Nothing important.” He regretted saying anything,knowing where this was going.

“Draco,” she pressed. “Tell me.”

“Honestly it was nothing really. He asked her the same question you did and told her she would have been Sorted into Slytherin if she attended Hogwarts,” he almost laughed for what he was going to say next. “He told her we would be good together and to keep an eye on me, to keep me out of trouble.”

Narcissa beamed. “He’s right. You do know that I want grandchildren soon. I’m growing impatient.”

“Mother—“

She ignored him. “When do I get to meet her?”

“What?” he asked flustered. “Why would you want to meet her?”

“I can’t meet the woman who spends more time than I do with my own son?” she said acutely.

Draco shook his head in exasperation. He couldn’t believe she was serious. “I suppose you can.”

Narcissa grinned. “Good. I have a feeling your father will be home soon—I have a faith we’ll be united again. You can invite her over for dinner then.” She patted him on the back.

“Right. Okay,” he said absentmindedly. He stood up, giving her a short kiss on her cheek. “I have to go Mother. I’ll see you soon."

She smiled, lingering onto his arm. “Be careful son.” He nodded, then Apparated from his childhood home into his lonely apartment.

The loneliness of the room hit him like a wall. Draco ambled into his bedroom and began to undress himself. He looked in the mirror, taking a good look at the frail, gashing scars on his torso. They were painless but he hated how horrid they looked. On his left forearm was a thin, long and intricate scar: a three dimensional skull regurgitating a snake that coiled itself around it, its head slithering its tongue at the bottom. How he despised that tattoo--it reminded him of everything he had done wrong. Most days it faded into nothing, but others it burned a jet black, inky color. He had done what he could to rid himself of it but it always came back to haunt him, like a phantom.

Glass shattered as he threw a vase against the wall. He was tired of being angry, tired of being looked down upon, tired of feeling like he was never good enough. He sobbed quietly, his hands slipping against the wall, his fingers tearing his platinum hair. He was the boy who made all the wrong choices and was desperate to leave that behind. But if his father made it out of the Ministry’s grip it would prove much harder to break. He lay down on his cold floor, feeling more alone than ever.

***

“Malfoy, can I have a word?"

Draco stopped in his tracks, agitated. He was already in a sour mood; he didn’t want Potter ruining his morning. He turned around, fixing a fake smile and walked into Potter’s office.

“Have a seat,” he instructed. He sat in wooden chair, glowering at his former nemesis. “I presume you know why I called you?”

“Because you think I had something to do with what happened at Azkaban,” he said flatly. 

“Actually, I do not.” Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter always placed the blame on him. “I wanted to talk to you about your performance here.”

_Shit,_ he thought. _He’s going to sack me._ “Shouldn’t I be talking to Bowen about this? He is my supervisor.” Bowen would show him mercy, he was sure of it.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think you had anything to do with it. I actually think you handled yourself well.” Draco raised a brow. it wasn’t every day that Harry Potter complimented him. “I actually wanted to apologize,” he said hesitantly, avoiding his gaze.

Draco gave him a questionable look. “What for?”

“For everything. For misjudging you, for being a prat to you and mostly for underestimating you. These last several weeks you have done a complete turnaround and I am truly impressed.”

His head jolted back, unsure what to say. “Thank you.” He eyed him, thinking there was another motive. “Is there anything else?”

Harry paused. “I’m sorry about your father. I know how difficult it is for you right now with the department and the wizarding community assuming you were involved, but don’t let it get to you. You’re not the Dark Wizard they believe you to be. They’ll come around,” he made a small attempt at a smile but it faltered.

Draco pursed his lips. “Thanks Potter. I appreciate it.” He was silent for a moment then asked the question that was burning inside him. “Do you know…do you know what will happen to my father?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s back in Azkaban for now. His trial was accelerated to next week where the Wizengamot will decide his fate.” He poured himself a shot of alcohol. “His chances of being released are unknown at this point.”

Draco nodded mindlessly, observing the information. Since the fiasco the dementors were sent back to Azkaban. As inhumane as they were they provided the best protection. He stood up to leave feeling strange; in all the years they had known each other they had never had a civilized conversation. It was nice however that someone was appreciating his efforts, that someone was seeing through the rumors. Maybe things would be changing for the better. His mood was lightened as he walked back to his desk almost smiling.

“You are looking rather delighted today,” Rosalind observed. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Nothing,” he said curtly. “Can’t I smile every now and then?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was about to tell you that you look really nice when you do. You’ve been looking pretty down lately.”

Draco suppressed a laugh. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“I notice everything, don’t you know?” she scrunched her nose playfully.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t act like you’re a Legilimens or something.”

“Yeah yeah, don't act like I'm not getting to know you,” she said packing her belongings, tucking her quill behind her ear. “ You wanna grab a drink? I’m not tired enough to go home yet.” 

“Sure,” he agreed. “Leaky Cauldron?”

She nodded. “See you there.” 

“Ah, Miss Rosalind!” said Tom the barman upon seeing her. “How nice to see you and young Malfoy. Fancy a drink?”

“A firewhisky,” Draco said. Rosalind ordered an exploding lemonade and tequila. They sat in the far corner of the bar where no one could see them. Several creepy regulars sat on the other side, passed out face first into their meals.

They sat in silence, eating away appetizers and enjoying the lull in conversation, the sun beginning to set. “Did you ever find out who left that note?” Draco asked as Rosalind was ripping away at her chicken. 

“No,” she said with a mouthful of food. “But nothing’s happened so far and it looks like no one has been there.” She gulped. “Do you think I should still be worried?”

Draco sipped his second beer. “I don’t know. Probably not. If you need anything let me know. Honestly," he said sounding concerned. "There are some dodgy people out there I don't want you getting hurt." 

Rosalind grinned. "You sound so worried."

He rolled his eyes. "If something happens to you I'm going to have to be reassigned to someone else again. I like working with you." He added quickly in a harsher tone. 

Rosalind saw right through him and elbowed his ribs. "Oh come on don't act like it's nice looking forward going to work every day. I like working with you too." She smiled. 

“Can't resist my charms can you?" He smirked. 

"Yes your bad boy charms are so irresistible," she rolled her eyes. "Being a former Death Eater and all. No wonder you're such a ladies man."

"Not anymore. Those days are behind me."

"How come you don't have a girlfriend then?" she asked. 

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I guess my standards are too high and I don't like anything casual. It’s about time I start to settle down."

"Ooh, you're looking for The One," she teased. 

Draco glared at her. "Possibly. What's it matter to you anyway?"

"What, I can't get to know you?" she answered laughing. "I know you don’t like talking about work all the time. It gets exhausting.”

He chugged the remainder of his beer. "Fine. I see where you're going with this. Why aren't you with anyone? Weaselbee seems keen to make you his girlfriend."

She smiled broadly, sipping her drink. “I love spending time with him but he’s not exactly my boyfriend.” 

"So he's just a friend you snog?"

She punched his arm. "No, he's a really sweet guy. I just don’t think I’m ready to be with anyone.” 

"Why not?" He asked carefully, noting the pain behind her response. 

"I've only ever had one boyfriend before," she said still not looking at him. "Almost a decade ago when I was in school. He was my only real relationship. He was one of the worst people I’ve ever met.” 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said automatically. 

Rosalind shrugged, trying to forget what was going through her mind. "So what's your story? What happened that made you the bad boy that you are?” 

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm only telling if you're telling. I'm interesting in knowing why you're here."

"Fine," she said standing up. "But not here." They paid their tab and Rosalind led them to the side of The Leaky Cauldron, where a dingy ladder hung by itself. "Coming?" she asked. They climbed the rickety rungs to the roof, where they had a clear view of the midnight blue sky. The stars were twinkling and the moon was shining like an orb onto their faces. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked in disgust upon seeing several rats in the corner. 

"Too many sketchy people down there," she said producing a blanket and pillows. "I like to come here to clear my head." She sat down, patting the spot next to her. "So?" She pressed, waiting for him to start. "I'm all ears."

He took the seat, simpering to himself that she was so eager to get to know him. No one had cared enough before to ask him how he felt or what was going through his mind.

He started from the beginning: how he was an only child raised in Malfoy Manor and tutored by the best professors in England; how he began flying since he was a toddler; how he played pranks on Dobby his house elf that would get him in trouble; how he had a scar on the bridge of his nose from when he fell off his broom when he was six; to the fancy dinners he was forced to go to in order to keep the family name. She listened intently, asking questions here and there. He told her how he was originally supposed to attend Durmstrang because they taught the Dark Arts but his mother didn't allow it. He spoke of his father like one would speak about a teacher they looked up to: clearly he wanted to please him but was afraid to disappoint. His mother was softer but had been depressed since the war ended; he loved his mother and did what he could to help her. He told her about the first time he met Harry Potter, how they served detention together in first year and spent the rest of their magical career at Hogwarts blaming each other for misdoings. She learned that he didn't necessarily hate the Weasleys but was taught that blood traitors were just as low as Muggles on the social hierarchy. Since Mrs. Weasley had killed his Aunt Bellatrix and Fred lost his life to a Death Eater (and their daughter was given Lord Voldemort's diary by Lucius himself), their rivalry was deep rooted. 

“That’s why you two act all weird around each other then.” Rosalind stretched her arms and lay down. “I knew it wasn’t because of me.”

Of course it wasn’t because of her, his gut wrenched. He continued his narration, carefully mentioning how he was torn about becoming a Death Eater but it was what his father wanted. He wouldn’t go into detail about the other missions he had to go on, but it was obvious he did not enjoy them. There was sadness in his eyes, a haunting look that showed the desperation he had to be rid of it, whatever he was holding onto. His voice wavered, and she offered a comforting hand.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she said gently. “I understand.”

He peered into her auburn eyes, full of compassion. “Alright,” he finally said. “What’s your story then?” 

Rosalind made a face between hesitation and anxiousness. “Well, I was born and raised in the States,” she began. “I went to Muggle school until fifth grade, my parents strongly believed that it would be good for me to interact with Muggles. I attended Southwest Institute of Magic and really liked it there, but after my fifth year I began to change. I got into a lot of fights but I was very strategic about it—I picked my battles carefully and made sure I wouldn’t get caught.”

Draco almost laughed. “You were a rule breaker in school? I never saw that one coming,” he said arrogantly.

She glared at him. “No not a rule breaker, I was sneaky and manipulative. I was angry and hurt. I did whatever I could to escape my head because I was afraid.”

He quickly dropped his voice, realizing they had reached a touchy subject. “Of what?”

Rosalind bit her lip. “Of myself,” she said faintly. “I’d become so angry I would black out and hurt people.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, she almost looked ashamed. “I began to hate myself.” 

“What happened to you that made you so angry?”

She gave him a hazardous look; the kindness she normally had was gone. “That doesn’t matter right now.” She hunched forward, covering her mouth with her hands. “The Dark Arts background Bowen mentioned was from the year I graduated from SIM. I joined a group of people who were being sent to impoverished, war-torn countries to help them out. We were allowed to use magic against Muggles, as long as we were doing it correctly.”

Draco nodded, piecing the information together. “It was a Muggle who wronged you?”

Rosalind’s eyes darted to his, crestfallen. “Yes. So it was perfect for me. I was gone for about a year, until the war ended and Voldemort was defeated. I stayed in El Salvador mostly, it felt like my duty to help my people. But there was a point where I felt like we were doing more damage than good...I did a lot of things I’m not proud of, a lot of things I wish I could take back. I made a lot of dumb decisions because I was angry. You see a lot of fucked up things in a place as dangerous as that.” She sighed, looking as if she was going to cry. “Maybe I’ll tell you about that some other time...I’ve never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked.” 

To both their surprise Draco pulled her into an embrace. He felt relieved, happy that there was someone else out there like him: someone who had made all the wrong choices, who had dwelled in something much bigger than they imagined, who was now trying to move past it—someone imperfect.

She looked up into his pale grey eyes. “Have I scared you away yet?” she looked almost fearful.

“No,” he shook his head. “Not at all.” A smile flickered across her face and they sat there on the rooftop, mutually enjoying the comfort in the silence.

**Hmm Draco and Rosalind are forming a pretty close bond, even though George explicitly told her he doesn’t want her to be friends with him. Does that mean drama is coming their way? Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading :)**

**Next chapter: The Jetset Life is Going to Kill You.**


	13. The Jetset Life is Going to Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You remember me, mija?"

**Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.**

**Very important chapter ahead! This is another Rosalind flashback, from her point of view.**

I couldn’t wait to leave once I was done with school. I no longer had friends and didn’t like anyone I went to school with, which left me with no reason to stay. So when I applied and was contacted to head to El Salvador I jumped at the chance. 

My parents were furious. They tried to tell me that it was a scam, that it was too dangerous, that I wasn’t allowed to go. But I didn’t listen. I needed to go and they didn’t understand that. My mother was the most upset because the reason they fled to the United States was to escape that lifestyle, they didn’t want that for Emma or myself. I didn’t listen of course. I left against their wishes without saying goodbye. 

We didn’t have a name, emblem or insignia because we did not want to be recognized. We wanted to be known for our work instead. We had Recognition Charms placed on us so we could identify other members. A warm comforting feeling would come over us when whenever we met. 

A week after graduation I Apparated from several Apparition Points to the capital, as instructed. I used to hate Apparating such long distances but I learned to be good at it. A tall, bronzed man with dazzling teeth and slicked hair greeted me. He was Jorge Sanabria, the man in charge. 

“Rosalind Morana,” he grinned, thrusting me into an awkward one-armed hug and kiss on my cheek, traditional Latino style. His Spanish accent was more pronounced than mine was. 

“We are happy that you decided to join us.” He spoke in a clear, authoritative voice that hinted he should not be tempered with. “You are the last to arrive. We are staying in a house at the end of this road. Stay quiet, and keep close.” He looked around the block, as if we were being watched. Jorge snatched my wrist, forcing me to keep up with him. 

The house was smaller than I expected. A garden was growing wildly in the front yard, the brick walls were withering away, eroding into the cement; there was a kitchen merged with a living and dining room, and a separate larger room with several beds. The walls looked like they had been painted over several times. 

“There they are,” Jorge smiles as several bodies waltz into the room. “This is Katerina, Ernesto, Francisco, and Evelyn. They are the only people you are allowed to give your identity to. No one can know who you are, where you are from, what you do, or who you work for. Understand?” 

I nodded, Jorge’s cheekbones raising in a mock smile. “Good. Rest up and get to know your family.” 

I smiled, dragging my belongings to the only other room in the house. The mattresses had numbers notched at the bedposts, and mine was the last at the far end. The young girl named Katerina waved at me and pulled me into a warm hug. 

“I almost thought you weren’t going to make it!” she squealed. She looked younger than I did, with a round, chubby face, orb-like hazel eyes and dusty brown hair. She was smaller than me in every way imaginable but had an impossibly welcoming smile. 

“Well here I am,” I said lamely. 

Katerina’s smile didn’t move. “I’m so glad to have you here, you’re the closest to me in age,” she spoke at one hundred miles per hour, all in one breath. “I’m fifteen, you’re not that much older than me right? No one likes to hang out with me much, they think I’m a little kid.” She scrunched her nose, eyes almost crossing.

I was taken aback, astonished that she was so young. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?” 

Katerina shook her head. “Nope, I have no one to take care of me. Jorge took me in after my parents disappeared, I’m not sure what happened to them. He’s always moving around so he home schools me. Nice of him huh?” Hey eyes bulged whenever she asked a question. 

“Yeah, real nice of him,” I said. 

_“Hola.”_ The body named Ernesto extended his hand for me to shake. “I heard we’re partners.”

“Partners? As in the buddy system?” I said with a stiff laugh. 

Ernesto smiled. “No, partners as in we have each other’s back when shit goes down.” 

“I didn’t realize it was going to be that kind of party,” I grin awkwardly, slightly confused. I was never really briefed on what my role would be. 

I set my belongings on my bed, unpacking as Katerina began to fill me in on everything. She quickly became my favorite. She felt like a little sister I could mentor, and was quite adept at magic. She was the baby of the crew, not allowed on ventures but the first to help when we came home, healing us. 

I tossed and turned for hours the first night, my heart pounding. El Salvador was more humid than I imagined, and the sounds were much different. Sleep felt impossible. 

A rattling crept through the walls, slithering into the room. My eyes snapped open: I could only see darkness. I looked around slowly but no one else seemed to have heard anything. A dark creature emerged from under one of the beds, an inch thick cloak hid what looked like a decrepit, death-like face: I could see a decaying hole for a mouth, sucking the life out of the room.

My back twinged as I grabbed my wand. The creature glided closer to me, to rid me of my memories. 

_"Stupefy!"_

The red jet of light ricoched off the dark being, almost hitting me in the face. Was this a Dementor? I had never seen one before but this felt much more sinister. I shot more spells at it, frustrated that nothing worked and no one was waking up. How the hell were they sleeping through all of this? 

_"Expec--Expecto Patronum!"_

A small silver jet sprouted from my wand, flailing to the ground. My mind was racing--I thought I saw the creature recoil in fear, but my memory didn't work. I thought that when my parents told me I was going to be a big sister was the best memory of my life. As much as I tried, every Patronus I sent withered in seconds. 

Then I thought of _Him_ and the last time I saw him and knew that was what it was. That was the most powerful memory of my life. 

The creature started to remove its hood with rotting hands, revealing an eyeless face. Its toothless mouth opened, in attempt to suck out my soul.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver snake erupted from my wand, attacking the dark creature. Its body snapped at the creature, fangs tearing the rotten flesh apart, eventually swallowing it whole. 

A slow clap interrupted my thoughts. Jorge was standing at the doorway, hair still slicked back, wearing a nightgown. "Not bad, Morana," he droned halfway impressed. "Was that your first encounter with a lethifold?"

"A--a what?" I asked confused. "That was a lethifold? I thought that was a Dementor!"

He grinned, taking a few steps towards me. "Yes, they are quite similar. No one knows their exact origins, except that they are amortal." He gazed at my black mamba, who was slowly fading into nothingness. "Have you conjured a full corporal Patronus before?"

"No," I said honestly, face flushing. 

"Hmm," he sniffed, raising his brow. "I think you’ll do just fine here." 

***

We weren’t necessarily cops because we didn't work exclusively with law enforcement. They were too corrupt, bribed and bought out like the ones in South America. We had a large network of informants, from legitimate police officers, to attorneys, doctors, politicians, and the average person looking to fight for the cause. They would research rumors before sending us the information. If we were able to return a kidnapped adult or child, we would. If we were able to negotiate to spare a life, we would. Most of us had different roles and I soon learned what I was best at. Ernesto and I made a good team, and we often posed as siblings or cousins. 

Gang activity was one of our biggest problems. Wizards and Muggles lived somewhat in chaotic harmony, it was known that magic was around but it was mostly kept as a rumor--there was an unwritten agreement that magic would be kept minimal when large populations of Muggles were around. The Statute of Secrecy wasn’t enforced, much like the majority of laws. 

It was gut-wrenching witnessing human rights violations first hand. What was just as difficult was vetting informants and their tips. Everyone has a price, and money can buy just about anyone. I became accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh; we had to burn bodies so Dark Wizards couldn’t turn them into Inferi. 

"What do you want to do once you get out of here Rosa Linda?" Katerina had asked me. She called me Rosa Linda because she thought I was pretty as a flower but thorny like a rose. 

I shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I don't think about it much. What about you?"

She scrunched half her face, thinking hard. "I don't think I can ever leave actually. I don't think Jorge would like that. He's raised me for so long I'll probably always stay with him." She looked crestfallen. "But you'll do great, I bet you'll have a government job!" 

I laughed. "I wish. I've always wanted to work for the FBI. Maybe I can work undercover for them."

Katerina shook her head excitedly like a bobble head. "They’d be crazy not to consider you! You're so smart and don’t ever crack under pressure, even when your life is on the line! I wish I was as fearless as you.” 

I felt an odd pang in my chest. “I’m not fearless, Katerina. I’m scared of a lot of things. You don’t want to end up like me.” 

She shrugged. “Well I do. I’m going to be really sad when you leave. How long do you think you’ll stay here?”

“I’m not sure. Once the Dark Lord is defeated hopefully. I do miss my family,” I said in a lowered voice. I hadn’t owled them in quite some time. 

“Promise you’ll write to me all the time?” she pleaded. 

I smiled. “Of course. You’re my favorite.” 

She gave me a big hug before turning off the light. “I know. You’re my favorite too.” 

***

The earth shattered, shaking specks of dirt onto our faces. I awoke with a start, checking my surroundings but no one else felt it. I heard a faint voice in the distance, whispering inaudible words; a light was flickering closer and closer. 

“Katerina!” I whispered to my bed mate. “Can you hear that?”

Her large eyes opened widely, still groggy. “Is someone coming for us?”

We listened harder, pressing our ears against the wall. We weren’t expecting visitors, especially at two in the morning. 

“Ernesto!” I hissed. “Something is wrong I think we’re being--”

A bang came through the other side of the wall, rubble smashing whatever was in its path. Jorge and the others jolted awake, completely unaware of what was happening, shooting spells left and right. I immediately grabbed Katerina, instructing her to take shelter. 

A large group of filthy men covered in street tattoos and wife beaters were standing at the hole made by the blast. About half had wands, the other half machetes and other crude weapons. They were destroying our kitchen, dragging our girls by the hair, dueling our boys. I protected myself with a Shield Charm and started firing back spell after spell; our group wasn’t holding up well due to the surprise. I battled with a burly gang member for several minutes when I heard a familiar scream behind me. 

“Rosie!” Katerina was being held by the throat, a sharp knife held next to it. “Rosie Linda! Help me!” Her eyes were red with tears, head glistening in sweat and blood. One of the men had her wand. 

I shot a Cruciatis Curse at her attacker without thinking and watched him convulse in pain on the floor. Another one of his henchman attempted to strike Katerina with a machete but I was too quick for him, slashing him in the face wordlessly, burning his face with an Acid Jinx. I grabbed a rod and smashed one of the men in the face, taking Katerina's wand back. I saw her attacker beginning to breathe on the floor and shot him another curse. 

_“Incendio lasso!”_

A whip of fire erupted from my wand, lashing itself around his neck in a ring of burning flame. I watched in glee as he screamed in pain, throat burning, his hands clutching at the lasso of fire. I whipped my wand vertically, turning it into a noose and left him hanging until he took his last breath. That curse became my trademark. I liked watching people look defenseless. I laughed, enthralled, proud of my work. 

“Rosie--!” 

But I had missed one: he slashed Katerina’s throat right before my eyes, before I could save her. I was too busy basking in my glory to realize she was still in danger. I watched as her tiny body thumped to the floor, head smashing against the concrete, her beautiful face drenched in her own blood, her last words forever etched into my ears. 

***

I asked Jorge to let me bury Katerina. I couldn’t bear burn her body, not the way that she had died. It was my fault she was gone and the guilt was making me sick. I grabbed a shovel and began digging a grave and carved a headstone, making sure to lay a bouquet of roses when I was finished. I took my time, making sure every tear that was pouring from my eyes was not wasted. 

Guilt was not the word I would've used to describe what I felt at that time. Shame, sadness, anger--it was my fault that Katerina had died so violently. If I wasn't so self absorbed then I could have saved her. If I wasn't so selfish she would still be alive, with her goofy happy smile. I remember sitting out in the backyard, digging deeper and deeper for a proper grave. But it seemed that no matter what I did the pain wouldn't go away. If anything it was accentuated. After several hours I finally laid her down to rest, in front of a small headstone that read _Here Lies Katerina, sister and friend_. I closed her eyes and buried her with her wand, and casted protective spells to ensure she rested in peace. 

My remaining time in El Salvador was a blur. I don’t remember much of what happened, or what I did. We had to change safe houses to Sonsonate, being more careful of the Secret Keeper we chose. In my year there I grew up more rapidly than I imagined, having witnessed and committed atrocities I will never come to terms with. 

For the last time, I enjoyed the tropical downpour of my parents’ home country. The moist earth, the green landscape, the scent of the rainforest, the flowing river—this was home for the last year. I said my goodbyes and informed my parents of my arrival. With the Dark Lord gone, there was no reason for me to stay any longer. His followers will disband or die out, or spend the rest of their lives in prison. For the first time in years, I felt at peace. Anguished, but at peace. 

Clothes drenched with the earth’s tears, I held my breath for the journey ahead. With a faint pop, the dirt shifts beneath my feet and is replaced with carpet, and the scurrying of a tiny body underneath a bed.

The tiny human peeks from the covers, staring with identical features to mine: the caramel colored brown skin, the curly hair, the curious almond shaped eyes.

“Sissy?”

***

**September 11, 2001. United States**

With the American flag perched somberly in the background, the President of the United States began his address to the nation: how our freedom came under attack in a “series of deliberate” terrorist acts, how the tallest buildings in the world had been destroyed, and several lives were lost and irrevocably broken. It was a slow, odd day, seeing those Muggle planes crash, watching the nation and New York City erupt in chaos, the murmurs of rumors of who or what could have been involved. 

“What’s happening?” My sister Emma had asked.

“Bad people caused that,” our mother responded, patting her on the head. 

“Are the bad people going to do that to us too?” 

“Of course not,” she said as my sister crawled into her lap. “They weren’t after us.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asked curiously. 

“I’m sure,” she smiled as my sister tightened her grip on our mother. 

I looked at my parents, the three of us with the same thought. _Did wizards cause this?_

There have been lowly rumors for years that the Muggle politicians aren’t all Muggles--they have magical blood and use it to swing votes in their favor, or in some cases events--for political gain. It has quietly happened for centuries, dodging the Statute of Secrecy through loopholes and by not exposing themselves directly or using magic in front of Muggles. 

“These deliberate terrorists attacks...is this a Muggle war coming on?” I asked my parents once Emma had fallen asleep. 

They glanced each other, my father taking off his glasses slowly, wiping them on his shirt, finally sighing. “I think there is a lot this supposed Muggle government knows that they do not let on about.” 

“Hmmph.” I nod, knowing he’s right. The quiet interception wizards and Muggles have here has been going on since the Revolutionary War, never quite ceasing. Why would it? Wizards here have access to technology, even something called the Internet and computers, making it easier for wizards to connect with people they'd normally not have a chance of meeting. The world is becoming smaller. The wealthier are becoming more powerful. Whatever it is that’s going on, it’s not just a Muggle or wizard thing. It’s much bigger. 

***

**November 15, 2001**

I woke up gasping for air, immediately looking to my right to make sure Emma was alright. She lay there soundly sleeping, a tiny pool of drool on her pillow. 

I hear a faint voice, causing my heart to thud against my chest. I make my way silently to the living room, two mounds in the dark scurrying to my parents’ room door. 

A flash of red light, two thuds to the floor. They didn’t even have time to scream, their wands still in their pockets, unused. Their eyes were open, shocked from fear. My parents had no chance to defend themselves in their final moments. 

My head snaps to our intruders, two men with thick gang tattoos, shaved heads, and creepy mustaches. One gives me a malicious grin. 

“You remember me, _mija?”_ he asked, machete in hand, taking a step closer to me. “You killed some of our friends.” 

I take a step back, trying to remember his face but I can’t. “What do you want?” My hands tremble, voice shaky. “How did you get here?” 

“We’ve got eyes and ears everywhere,” he continues to grin. “We know what everyone is up to.” 

“Get the fuck out of here,” I say with hot tears streaming down my cheeks, wand in hand. 

He widens his grin, inches from my face. “Make me.” Blood splatters onto our sides, his partner beginning to dismember my parents’ bodies. 

_“Crucio!”_

His body convulsed on the floor, writhing in pain. I Silence him, annoyed with his shrieking. A heavy blow cracks against my ribs; I spun around to clock the Muggle with my fists, disarming him. The machete lands feet from us becoming fair game. 

_“Petrificus totalis!”_ I yell before he can reach for it, shooting more Crucatis Curses at them. I tackle the Muggle, throwing punch after punch at his face, breaking his nose and shattering his cheekbone. He begins to cough blood, smearing into his eyes. I wrap my hands around his neck, watching his eyes panic and heart beat faster in panic, feeling the euphoria of revenge as his arms drop to his side. 

The other man begins to stir, machete in hand, throwing it at me, barely missing my face. 

_“Incendio lasso!”_

A jet of flame shoots from my wand, strangling his neck, burning his body to cinders. I jerked my wand, making sure he was feeling as much pain as possible, making sure that he was regretting what he just did, his body floating in mid air until it ceased breathing before dropping to the floor. 

I ravish in my glory for a fraction of a second, an unnerving wave of glee forcing a smile on my face before I see my parents’ bodies on the floor. I let out an uncontrollable wail, sobbing in my mother’s nightgown. These hits weren’t meant for them--they were meant for me. 

A sniffle behind me startles me, by the bathroom door. There sat my sister Emma, completely wide-eyed in horror, who had seen everything I had done. 

**So now you know why Rosalind won’t talk about her past! This is one of the turning points in her life where she realizes the consequences of her actions. As our story progresses we will see more of how her past has molded her to the person she is today. The next chapter we will see a lot of Draco and George interaction :)**

**Next chapter: The Carpal Tunnel of Love.**


	14. Dance, Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You make me happy."

**Chapter title taken from the iconic Fall Out Boy song.**

**_“You make me happy.”_ **

Rosalind heaved out a long sigh, pausing to admire the quality of her quill. She bought it ages ago, but never realized how it never ruffled, and how the ink flowed smoothly on parchment. She hummed a tune by Celestina Warbeck, doodling on her parchment as the wizard next to her shuffled his papers again, waiting for her to notice him. She glanced up to see an impatient Draco, staring at the floor with his arms crossed. 

“Are you okay?” she finally asked out of her trance. “What’s wrong?”

He clicked his tongue between his teeth. “He got out.”

“Who did?” 

“My father,” he said flatly. 

She observed him, looking for signs of emotion but there were none. “When did you find out?”

“Last night.” He rested his elbow on his desk, strumming his fingers on his cheek. “There are restrictions though. He can’t work at the Ministry or Gringotts, and is required to have monthly random visits by the Ministry. No idea how he got that deal or if he paid someone off. He’s also blacklisted from many jobs but...at least he’s out.” 

“Well that’s good isn’t it?” Rosalind asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“So why do you seem so nonchalant about it?”

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect from him. My mother is elated, she already has a welcoming party set up.” He cleared his throat, organizing the documents on his desk. “She wants you to come.” 

Rosalind laughed in disbelief. “Me, are you sure?" She squinted her brow. "Why?”

“She’s taken the time to research you, unfortunately.” He said, sounding slightly agitated. “She asked about you as well. She said she’s happy to meet another Pureblood.”

“Oh I see,” she said, smirking. “I only get an invite because of my blood status? Maybe I should’ve told your father I’m a Muggleborn.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my idea and you don’t have to come if you really don’t want to. I understand the posh lifestyle isn’t something you’re used to.” 

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’ll be there. Gotta make sure I keep you out of trouble, right?”

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t worry about any Death Eaters being there. They’re all on the run.” He snapped his notebook open, pulling out a thin invitation. “It’s tomorrow night at six in the evening. And wear something nice. Not like your Ministry uniform.” 

Rosalind grinned. “Don’t worry Master Malfoy, I won’t disappoint you.” 

***

Rosalind spent her Saturday spending an obnoxious amount of time preparing herself for the dinner party. She opted for a floor length cream dress that hugged her hips, flaring out at the bottom; a sweetheart neckline accentuated her chest, the color complimenting her bronze skin. She defined her curls with her wand for more volume and less frizz, settling on a pair of drop emerald earrings and a delicate necklace. She wiped a bit of nude lipstick on her lips, giving herself a mental pep talk before Apparating to Malfoy Manor. 

She nearly stumbled on her shoes, her heels clicking against the stone as she caught herself. Her mouth gaped upon seeing the grandiose mansion, three stories of centuries old elegance carved into the walls. The cobbled pavement clacked against her high heels as she approached the door. She could hear carriages approaching, wheels screeching to a halt. Voices flickered in her direction, mostly high-pitched laughs from women laughing dryly at jokes they didn’t find amusing. She approached a set of mahogany double doors, where two house elves stood waiting for her, list in hand. The smaller of the two cleared her throat. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you Miss Rosalind Morana, of the United States of America.” 

The tall doors opened to a grand drawing room, engorged in lavish paintings, depicting the various faces of the Malfoy family throughout the centuries. Rosalind thanked the elves and stepped in slowly, scanning the room for a familiar face. **  
**

She painted a stiff smile on her face as she entered, unsure where to go from there. She could feel the stares at the back of her head--it appeared that the majority of the guests knew each other. A harp and piano played themselves in a corner, giving the party another touch of elegance. In the middle of the room stood three astute figures with the same platinum blonde hair, arrogantly handsome faces, and pale skin.. 

The woman of the group approached her, smiling broadly, flashing a perfect set of white teeth. “Rosalind,” she said as her husband and son followed suit. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

She returned her smile, taking Naricissa’s hand. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Malfoy.” 

Narcissa let out a small, tinkering laugh. “How sweet of you.” She turned to her husband, elated that he had returned home. 

Lucius took her hand, his lips meeting it briskly. “It is good to see you again, on much different conditions Miss Morana.” 

She smiled politely, resisting the urge to frown. “Welcome home Mr. Malfoy.” 

“Please, call me Lucius.” He spoke in a much different tone than Azkaban. His confidence had returned and his smugness was no longer diminished. He glanced over at Draco, who had remained quiet. “Excuse my son, he usually has more manners.” He struck him in the back of the leg with his slender cane, encrusted with a snake’s head and emeralds. 

Draco glowered at him, taking Rosalind’s hand and kissing it, not breaking eye contact. “Glad to see you made it.” A spark flew through her veins, causing her to flinch. 

“Draco, why don’t you show your friend around, have her get better acquainted with the guests?” Narcissa suggested. “I’m sure she’s eager to meet everyone.” She clasped a sharp hand on Rosalind’s shoulder, flashing her teeth again. 

“Of course, Mother.” He slipped his arm around Rosalind’s waist, beginning their tour of introductions. He was dressed in a sky blue suit with brown leather Oxfords, a handsome watch ticking on his wrist, his hair slicked back into a deep side part, the suit accentuating his eyes. 

“You clean up nicely,” he said to her before they approached the first guest. “I’m impressed.”

She grinned, leaning closer to him. “I told you I wouldn’t disappoint you.” 

He smirked, leading her to a corner of the room where a portly man was drinking whisky and smoking a cigar. His peppered, balding hair glistened, his eyes narrowing when he saw them. He set down his glass, letting a powdered rain of ashes fall to the floor. 

“Mr. Greengrass” Draco said casually. “I’d like you to meet a newcomer to our group, Rosalind Morana. She’s my partner at the Ministry of Magic.” He moved his arm, letting them shake hands. “Rosalind this is Azrael Greengrass, patriarch of one of the oldest families in Britain.” 

The man raised his brow stiffly, dragging another puff of smoke before greeting her. “Pleased to meet you young lady.” He hardly acknowledged her presence before turning his attention to Draco. “Astoria will be here shortly, young Malfoy. She's arriving after Daphne.”

Draco’s face quivered for a moment, but he nodded and remained stoic. “I’m looking forward to seeing her again.” He smiled politely and dragged Rosalind by the waist, introducing her to other families. 

“Who’s Astoria?” she asked curiously. “Sounds like Mr. Greengrass really wants you to spend time with her.”

He took a sip of whiskey, avoiding her gaze. “You’ll know when you see her. Trust me.” 

“Who is she?”

He took another sip, raising his eyebrows at her. “Lifelong friend,” he said with an emphasis on the latter word. 

“Friend?” She grinned. “I can’t wait to meet her then.” 

Draco almost choked on his last gulp of whiskey, tossing it onto an empty tray for the house elves to take to the kitchen. “I’m not sure she would say the same.” 

Before Rosalind could retort, he led her to several others: the Notts, the Rookwoods, the Travers, the Dolohovs--several Death Eater families were present, but the Death Eaters themselves were nowhere to be seen. She was surprised as to how normal they treated her, but knew it was because of her blood status. The fact she wasn’t well off didn’t matter; although blood supremacy was a dying ideal, Purebloods appeared to remain close to one another. 

The house elves at the door cleared their throats, making way for the newest guest in their midst. A statuesque woman made way, her arrogance accented by her delicate features. She appeared to be nearly six feet tall; her black gown had a slit up to her thigh, revealing long, thin legs; her hair was parted to the side, long waves cascading past her shoulders, diamond earrings hanging softly above her neck. Her beauty was breathtaking. All eyes were on her, on this radiant woman with the piercing blue eyes, eyes that smiled upon spotting Draco, cocking a pompous eyebrow at Rosalind, a stranger to her. 

“Draco,” she cried as she stepped closer to him. Even her strides were elegant, every clink of heels to wood fairy-like. “It has been so long.” She pulled him into a deep embrace, holding onto him longer than he expected. She gazed into his stormy eyes. “You are looking as handsome as ever.”

Draco’s face remained unmoving. “You are looking fine as well Astoria.” 

Her eyes flashed a glimmer of annoyance as she let him go, tilting her head towards Rosalind “And who is this? I don’t believe we have met before.” She towered over her, giving her a curious look. 

“I’m Rosalind,” she said brightly. “I’m Draco’s partner at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Astoria clicked her tongue, mouth slightly open. “Oh, you’re Draco’s partner, the one that was in the _Prophet?_ You’re not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” she asked innocently, standing her ground while Draco stared at the floor, his eyes widening as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“That is a good question,” Astoria smirked, turning to Draco. “Care to dance, Draco? I recall you have a very nice waltz.” 

Draco stiffened, not saying a word. He muttered to Rosalind that he’d be back and left her standing alone, annoyed that he ditched her for a pretty girl. She crossed her arms, taking a large glass of wine from a passing house elf, downing it in one gulp. 

“Is Astoria trying to give you a hard time?” a shrill voice asked her.

Rosalind turned to see a woman about her age, equally as beautiful as Astoria with a lighter chestnut hair and hazel eyes. She was wearing a midnight blue gown encrusted with small diamonds, giving her pale skin a luminous glow. 

“Who, me?” she asked with a mouthful of hors-devours. “I don’t think so. Well maybe.” She gulped. “I have no idea.” 

The woman smiled, picking at her plate of grapes. “It’s alright. My sister doesn’t take well being around other pretty women.” She laughed at Rosalind’s surprised expression. “I’m Daphne Greengrass by the way,” she nodded in greeting. “I’m much more tolerable than Astoria. You’re Draco’s partner at the Ministry, correct?”

“Yeah, he’s a lot of fun to work with,” she laughed. 

“He really is, isn’t he?” she plopped a grape into her mouth. “He’s not so bad once you get past that persky wall of his. He can be quite sweet too, when he wants to be.” She glanced over at the pair, who were dancing by the grand piano. “Astoria always hoped they’d marry but Draco never popped the question.”

Rosalind almost sputtered out her wine. “Marry? They’re together?”

Daphne chuckled, shooing a house elf away. “No, not exactly. They’ve known each other their whole lives and it was always assumed they were destined to be together. They keep appearances to keep our families happy. She’s oddly possessive over a man she doesn’t really want. You could say they’re childhood sweethearts.”

“I see,” she replied, mulling over the information. “She seems a bit young for him, I thought he’d be paired off with someone like you.” 

Daphne raised her brow, taking another glass of champagne. “I don’t fancy boys, I prefer men,” she quipped with a wink. 

A young boy about three years old approached her, tugging at her gown gently, lifting his arms up to be carried. “Mummy, when’s Daddy coming?” 

Daphne thrust her son into her arms, poking his little nose. He was a handsome little boy, with his mother’s hair and eyes, and a rugged, familiar face. “I’m not sure, sweetie, but he’ll be here soon.” She beamed at him, and the boy looked over at the stranger. “Can you introduce yourself, Ares? This is Rosalind.”

The boy focused his large, doe-like eyes on her, extending his hand. “Rosie-Linda?” he questioned. 

Rosalind smiled, heartstrings tugging. “You can call me that if you’d like. What is your name?” 

“Ares!” He said proudly. “A-r-e-s.”

She shook his tiny hand, curtsying. “Handsome name for a handsome young man.” 

Ares smiled a cheeky grin, clutching his mother closer. “Thank you Rosie-Linda.” 

Daphne set him down, patting his head. “Run along now, Ares, go play with little Dolohov. Your father will be here soon.” The small boy squirmed out of her arms and sprinted off to join another toddler his age. 

“He’s absolutely adorable,” Rosalind observed. 

“Thank you,” Daphne replied. “I hope Rodolphus arrives soon, Ares misses him dearly.”

A chunk of cheese plunked into her glass. “Rodolphus? As in Rodolphus Lestrange?” she asked in shock. 

“That’s the one,” Daphne said simply, sighing in reminiscence. “He can’t stay long though, Lucius will be furious if he sees him.”

“Is he your husband?” she asked in a high pitched voice.

Daphne eyed her, shaking her head. “No. He's widowed now, but Ares was born right around the time when Bellatrix died. She knew about us though,” she added as Rosalind continued to look confused. “She married him to carry on the Pureblood legacy, but everyone knew she lusted after the Dark Lord,” she continued in a disgusted tone. “Bella didn’t want children but Rodolphus did. I was very young at the time, I had barely left Hogwarts. But Rodolphus is a fine man when he’s not crossed, and a great father.” 

Rosalind downed another glass, remaining quiet. She couldn’t believe she was talking about the same man who tried to kill her. 

“We have a very open and understanding relationship,” Daphne continued. “Especially now that he’s out of Azkaban. But at the end of the day he always comes home to me.” She smiled, sipping her wine. “He told me about your little scuffle at Azkaban as well,” she added nonchalantly. “He was quite impressed with your magic.”

Rosalind nodded in an attempt to hide her shock, muttering her thanks. Was Daphne aware of the kind of man Rodolphus was? The type of man who--

“Daphne!” a pug-faced girl cried, throwing her arms around her neck, her grown out bob bouncing. “You look beautiful as always,” she said sweetly.

Daphne thanked her, motioning for Rosalind to come closer. “Thank you Pansy. I’d like you to meet someone, she’s Draco’s partner at the Ministry. Rosalind this is Pansy Parkinson, another lifelong friend of ours.”

The pug-faced girl with bulging eyes greeted her politely, shaking her hand. “Oooh yes, you’re the one Narcissa’s been dying to meet!” she laughed, shoving a passing house elf who bumped into her. “I heard she sent Pipsqueak after you, the elf by the door. She wanted to make sure you wouldn’t turn Draco in.” 

“What do you mean?” Rosalind asked, taken aback. How did she know that someone had been tailing her?

“You didn’t know?” Pansy asked with a sneer.”Narcissa is paranoid, thinks that the Ministry officials will sack Draco at any moment they can, especially with what happened at Azkaban. She’s the reason he hasn’t been able to have a steady partner, she never trusted the others. She always stepped in and threatened them if they got him in trouble so they left to be reassigned.” She bit away at a piece of cheese. “Seems to fancy you in particular though, I can see why. You’re just his type.” 

“Type?” she asked laughing. “He seems to already be with his type.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You mean Astoria? She’s gorgeous, there’s no doubt about that--but something about them doesn’t quite click.” She shrugged, ripping away another piece of cheese. “He’s so uptight around her. He seems a bit more relaxed around you.” She grinned as the music stopped, the song ending with a disgruntled Draco making his way in their direction while Astoria stayed behind to chat with an important looking witch. 

He raised his eyebrows upon seeing Pansy, Daphne, and Rosalind together in conversation. He greeted them curtly, grabbing another shot of whisky. 

“Sorry about that. She’s a bit demanding,” he said under his breath. 

“You looked like you enjoyed yourself.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Pansy jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” she asked as Draco continued to look uncomfortable. “We’ve just met a bit ago, I adore her already.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, rubbing his arm. “I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.” As flirty as she was with him, he appeared accustomed to it, letting her hang off his arm until she got distracted. He smiled stiffly, Pansy letting him go to greet another newcomer, a tall, muscular young man sporting two rings on his right hand, a pinky ring and another on his ring finger. 

“Blaise!”

The handsome man grinned mischievously, his dark skin perfectly smooth underneath the light. “Pansy, Daphne,” he greeted the girls warmly. “Draco, good to see you.” He raised his eyebrow at Rosalind, eyes affixed on her eyes, then her lips. “And who is this?”

“My partner, Rosalind,” Draco answered quickly. “We work together at the Ministry.” 

He took her hand, kissing it lightly, eyes staring into hers hungrily. “Pleasure. Name’s Blaise Zabini.” His fingers grazed hers for a moment before he let go.

She smiled. “Nice to meet you as well. I’ve heard about you,” she said grinning at Draco, who shot her a dirty look. 

“Is that so?” He grin widened upon seeing Draco’s face. “All good things, I hope?” 

“Of course,” she nodded, Daphne and Pansy smirking at each other. 

A waltz began to play, the music tinkering in their ears. Blaise bowed his head, offering his hand. “Care for a dance?” 

She stared at him for a second before glancing at Draco, who was looking at Blaise with a tensed jaw. “Sure,” she decided while he slid his hand beneath her waist. 

The music played softly in the background as Blaise moved them gracefully, maneuvering her with ease. He lowered his hand down her back, piercing her body with his eyes. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked mid-dance, not taking his gaze off of her.

“No, I’m American.”

“Salvadoran American, to be exact,” he corrected.

  
“How did you--?”

“I’m a Legillimens, love,” he said, his thick voice oozing like molasses. “And you’re a terrible Occlumens.”

“I know,” she groaned, annoyed and impressed that he read her mind. “I’ve tried to take up Occlumency but I just can’t get the hang of it.”

“It’s a difficult art.” He adjusted his hand, skimming the fabric of her dress. “It’s taken me years of practice.” 

“That’s good to know,” she sighed, observing him. “What else did you find in there?”

“In your mind?” he asked, giving her a sympathetic look. “You’ve suffered terrible tragedies which is what brought you here. You wanted to start a new life.”

“You’re good,” she admitted. “I thought coming here would let me start over.”

“Luckily for you, Purebloods stick together,” he said, his toe tapping her heel so she wouldn’t step on him. “If you ever need a green card marriage, I’m your man.” 

Rosalind blurted out a laugh in surprise. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course, we already have the attraction going for us.” He leaned into her ear, his voice dripping like honey. “Don’t worry, I won’t repeat what you were thinking when I introduced myself to you,” he winked, grinning at her flushed face. “I’m flattered.” She buried her face into his arm in embarrassment, inhaling his musky scent. 

The song ceased to a decrescendo, ending softly. Blaise slipped his arm around the lower half of Rosalind’s waist, leading them back to their group. Daphne and Pansy were engaged in conversation, giggling, while Draco looked tense. 

“I have to say Draco, I’m rather jealous,” Blaise informed him in a pompous tone. “You get to be around such a beauty all day, I’m surprised you haven’t snagged her already.”

“We work together,” he glowered. “That would be unprofessional.” 

“So you don’t mind if I take her out then?” he smirked, enjoying Draco’s foul mood. “Since you’re letting the opportunity slip. We’re already planning our marriage.”

Draco grit his teeth. “That’s not for me to decide.” 

“Oh, you two? What a smart match,” Daphne said in surprise. 

“Blaise joked that if I needed a green card marriage he’d make himself available,” Rosalind said with a smile. 

“How lovely,” she continued, an idea brewing in her mind. “Let’s discuss it over lunch next week with Pansy and Rodolphus. You can come if you’d like too, Draco,” she added as his ears steamed. 

“Sorry, I’ve got plans,” he droned, downing another shot of whisky. “Let me know when the save-the-date is.” 

"Choo! Choo-choo!" an excited Ares was on the floor, playing with a tiny magical train. His large eyes lit up when he saw a familiar figure by the front doors, causing him to drop his train set and jump high in the air, running towards the large shape. "Daddy! You're home!"

Rodolphus Lestrange threw his son into the air, catching him and hugging him tightly. "There's my handsome boy!" He rubbed the top of his head, kissing him on the cheek. "How have you been doing, my son? Behaving yourself and protecting Mummy?"

Ares nodded, smiling broadly, fingers in his mouth. "Yes Daddy! I missed you!" Rodolphus grinned, setting his son down. Ares remained faithfully by his father's side, holding onto his pant leg. 

Rodolphus glanced up, opening his arms to the woman in front of him. "Daphne," he whispered, moving a strand of hair from her face. "Even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." He cupped her face gently, kissing her lips. 

She smiled, gazing into his eyes lovingly once their lips parted. "I missed you too, my love." 

Rosalind stared on in shock, dumbfounded that this man was the same that assaulted her. He looked much different now, however: his teeth were fixed, he cut his hair, his beard was trimmed, showing off his rugged and masculine physique. He almost looked handsome. No one else appeared surprised; Pansy was already busy conversing with another guest and Draco was downing another shot of whisky while Blaise lectured him about being a gentleman. The couple enjoyed their moment together, before the outlaw observed his surroundings and noticed the other woman in front of him.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at her in blissful disbelief. Rosalind looked around for help but no one was paying attention. "Look at you." His voice was low and menacing. "I have to say this is a pleasant surprise. You clean up very nicely.” 

Daphne caressed his arm. “We just met tonight,” she whispered to her lover. “We’re having lunch next week.” A strange shiver went up Rosalind's spine as they stared at her, but she was not unnerved by it. 

Rodolphus smirked, downing a shot of liquor and lighting a cigar. He puffed out a cloud of smoke, letting it swirl around Rosalind's face. She resisted the urge to cough, looking at him straight in the eyes. Daphne left to tend to her son and Draco had disappeared. She was entirely alone with him--the rest of the party had moved to the dining room. 

Rodolphus approached her, grazing her jawline with his fingertips. "You are an enigma, I must admit." He puffed out another cloud of smoke, lowering his fingers to her neck. “It’s quite fascinating.” 

“And why do you find me so fascinating?” she spat, glaring at him.

“You remind me of someone,” he replied, tapping the cigar and letting a trail of ashes hit the floor. "My late wife. Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Draco’s aunt?” she replied in disgust. “The Death Eater? Why?”

“Don’t look so offended, darling,” he said with a dark chuckle, smashing the butt of his cigar on a nearby table. "Of course she had her terrible traits, we all do. The difference between you and her though is that she owned it. You’re ashamed of it.” 

“Ashamed of what?” she asked in a low voice, Rodolphus leaning against the wall. 

“Your dark side,” he whispered, observing her uncomfortable reaction. Rosalind’s heart pounded against her throat. "I only have one question for you." He thrust two shots of whiskey down his throat, wiping his mouth before he continued. "How many people have you killed?" he asked so nonchalantly, so normally. 

Rosalind felt as if he punched her in the gut. "Excuse me?" she replied, offended. ”Why do you want to know that?” 

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to perform a Cruciatus Curse as well as you did without having a body count? You’re a good witch, yes, but you wouldn’t have been able to do that on a whim. You’re no rookie.” He stared at her, waiting patiently. “Don’t look so ashamed, love, I’m not here to judge you,” he added upon seeing her shocked expression. “You're amongst friends here--like minded individuals. Forget about your little Ministry friends who’d look down on you for even thinking about it. So,” he raised both arms in question, awaiting her answer. “How many?” 

Rosalind stared at the floor, breathing in the noxious remains of the cigar, watching its trails of ash flutter to the wooden floor. “I don’t know.” Her voice was small and frail, yet relieved that it was no longer a secret. “I lost track.” 

"And who was the first person you killed?" 

"That's two questions, Mr. Lestrange."

He cocked his eyebrow, urging her to answer him. She sighed. "Someone who wronged me,” she said slowly. “Someone who I thought deserved it." She tried to say it without shame, without anger. 

“What was he?” he inquired. 

“A man.” 

“You know exactly what I meant.”

“He was a Muggle,” she responded, eyes darting back to the floor. 

Rodolphus smirked. "See, doesn’t it feel good to let that secret out into the world?" He smiled, inching closer to her again, examining her. "I believe you. He probably did deserve it. Some people deserve to die." His calloused thumb grazed her cheek, his dark eyes staring at her with fascination and understanding, his voice soft as if he were complimenting her. “Bella killed a lot of people too, mostly Muggles--”

"I didn’t kill him because he was a Muggle--”

He raised his hand, silencing her. "I'm not judging you sweetheart, it happens to the best of us." His tone was light, cheery. He was still smiling pleasantly. “You’re not the first witch who’s meddled with the Dark Arts.” 

“I’m not like you,” she retorted, her fists clenching. “I’m not a Death Eater, I didn’t kill innocent people--”

“We’re not so unlike as you think, love.” His smile faded, his head shaking and pointing to the dining room. "Lucius is about to begin his speech, shall we join them?" He asked as he offered his arm. She grit her teeth before accompanying him to the dining room, looking for Draco or Blaise so she could get away from him. 

Lucius Malfoy stood at the head of the table, looking over his Pureblood counterparts. "Good evening, friends, family and colleagues. It has been much too long since we have sat together at this table." Narcissa smiled adoringly at her husband, beaming with pride that he was finally home. 

"Times have changed,” he voice droned with a hint of spite. "The Dark Lord has fallen. It is now acceptable to associate with Muggleborns, even Muggles themselves.” His face hardened with every word he spoke. “The tables have turned--we are now cast aside for living as we have been for centuries. I understand now that frame of mind is not sound, and I am committed to turning over a new leaf.” He raised his glass high, “hear hears!” echoing throughout the room. Glasses chinked against one another, agreeing wholeheartedly with the toast. Laughter erupted throughout the table, and a feast appeared before their eyes. 

How ironic, Rosalind thought, not buying Lucius’ spiel. From what she had gathered, the Malfoys and Death Eater families were blood supremacists. There was no way his stint in Azkaban changed him that quickly. She frowned into her plate, aesthetically filled with roast and potatoes and vegetables, bumping elbows with her neighbor. Lucius sat at the head of the table with Narcissa on his right side, Draco to his left, and Astoria next to him, who was eating delicately. 

“Your fairytale won’t end with you becoming Mrs. Malfoy,” a deep voice rumbled next to her, his fingers resting on the stem of his wine glass.

“So you’re a Legilimens and a Seer?” she asked, Blaise’s lips curling into a smile. 

“No,” he grinned, swirling the wine in his glass. “I just have a good sense of judgment.” He took a meticulous sip, enjoying her eager expression. He leaned closer to her, his rings flashing in the light. “I could tell you how your story ends but it’ll spoil the surprise.” She eyed him in suspicion as the wizard stood to leave. “I’ll see you around, Rosalind.” 

Chairs screeched in the room and glasses thudded on the table as guests began to leave. Rosalind glanced around for familiar faces, spotting Daphne and Pansy who insisted on taking her to a new cafe next week.

“Bye-bye Rosie Linda,” Ares waved. She let him kiss her on the cheek, and the trio departed, sans Rodolphus. He must’ve snuck out before Lucius spotted him. 

She scanned the various doors, wondering which one led to a bathroom. She wandered the halls, tentatively opening doors. She heard two voices arguing heavily at the end of the hall but ignored it when a figure appeared in the shadows, almost knocking her over.

“What the bloody hell--” a familiar voice cried before clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he said, holding back a laugh. “I thought you were a house elf.”

Rosalind frowned, punching him in the arm. He swayed, holding onto the wall for stability. “I’m not that small, thank you very much.” 

“Riiightt,” he droned, grabbing her shoulder to keep himself from falling, still laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked. “Had too much to drink?”

“Whaa, me? No way, I could drink gallops of alcohol if I wanted to,” he swayed his hand, pointing at a nonexistent container. “Why aren’t you drunk Rosa-lind? You’re miss--missing out.” He hiccuped. 

"You’re drunk! How much whiskey did you have?"

"Mee druuunk? I'm fine, love I promise," he gave her a lopsided grin. "I can handle my li-liquor." 

"You should really go to bed, you're going to hurt yourself," she told him as he grabbed onto her waist. 

"Come-hic-come with me!" He bellowed, trying to figure out his surroundings. "My room's on the other end of this hall-hallway...I think." He squinted his eyes, pointing haphazardly. "I don’t want to be alone..." 

He staggered onto her, almost knocking her over again. She grabbed his waist, using her body weight to guide him to the door on the left end of the hallway as he mumbled something about being nauseous and going too fast. 

She opened the door, exhausted as Draco slammed onto his bed, face up. "Why’d you have to go so fast?" He saw a bottle of alcohol sitting in the corner of his mantle and attempted to guzzle it. 

"Draco stop!" She cried, wrestling the bottle out of his hands. "If you have anymore you’ll pass out!"

"Yeah? May-maybe I want to," he said, childlike. "Maybe that's better than being called a dis-disgrace." He took a sip, enjoying the burning in his throat. "My father never seems to be hap-happy with me." He looked crestfallen, like a little boy who had been told he was getting coal for Christmas. 

Rosalind patted his back awkwardly, trying to comfort him. "You're not a disgrace at all. Your mother seems very proud of you."

He groaned, his head was starting to pound. "She just wants me to give her grandkids already."

"Why won't you give her any? Astoria seems to be fond of you," she teased. 

Draco attempted to scoff, but bubbles of spit erupted from his mouth instead. "She's a decent shag, that's it."

"So that's why you were gone for so long?"

He smirked, still looking lopsided. "Of course, I had to do something while you were with Blaise and Daphne."

Rosalind scowled. "You were the one being moody all night."

He tried to scowl at her, but his eyes nearly crossed. "I saw the way he looked at you."

"You did tell me he was an eligible bachelor, remember," she toyed. 

"Fuck what I said before." He took another swig. "He's not good enough for you. Neither is Weaselbee."

Rosalind raised her eyebrow. "Why not?"

Draco eyed her carefully, seeming to be lost in his thoughts, looking directly over her head. "I don't love her," he said finally. 

"Who?" she asked, perplexed. 

"Astoria!" He yelled, throwing his arms in the air into a fit. 

"Why'd you shag her then?"

"'Because," he said slowly. "It's all I'm good at. She doesn’t even want me. That’s all she wants me for.” 

Rosalind stared at him, unsure what to say. He looked so lost, like he desperately needed someone to talk to. "What do you want then?"

He took one last shot of alcohol before throwing the glass onto the floor. He lifted his hand up in protest, as if trying to scold her for something but the words wouldn't come out. "I want to be happy," he said quietly. He looked into her eyes, his fingertips almost touching her face. "You make me happy." He dropped his hand, his head dropping onto her lap. "You don't jud-judge me. You accept me for who I am."

Rosalind stroked his head, playing with his soft mane of hair. "Of course I do. Because you do the same for me." She smiled timidly at him, sure he couldn't see her anymore. "Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Friends?" His head shot up, almost knocking his nose into hers. She could smell the alcohol in his breath, full of sorrow and regret. He could see her clearly now: her soft features, her full lips, the way her eyes shone in the moonlight. Their breathing was short, almost merging into one. He traced her features gently with his fingertips, their faces inches from one another. 

"Sure Morana, if that's what you want to call it.” He scoffed, attempting to swat her away but missed. He fell face first into his pillow, still fully clothed, with the words he was about to say never leaving his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a monster of a chapter, but it introduced a few characters and included some I love writing, like Rodolphus. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Next chapter: Famous Last Words.


	15. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're nothing without me."

**Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.**

**Trigger warning: domestic violence, violence, and sexual assault.**

Tall dark and handsome was the only way to describe him. He was muscular, built and had an amazing smile--that was the first thing I noticed about him. 

I'm not entirely sure how we met, but he knew that I went to a special school. We were allowed to come home during the weekends, and I made sure to hurry home every Friday just to see him for a moment. We never did much, we'd usually go for walks in the park and hang out by ourselves. He never liked me around his friends for some reason, and I never met his parents. We met in the spring of my fourth year. It was his energy that drew me to him, his aura: he oozed confidence, something I always lacked. 

"Hello beautiful," he always greeted me. He would move a strand of hair from my face and look into my eyes hungrily, like he wanted me. He had this way of making me feel needed--I always felt so desperately plain at school. No boy had ever liked me before, not one had ever paid me any attention. But somehow he saw me differently, he made me feel pretty, he made me feel wanted, something I had never experienced before. I loved the attention he gave me because it was always us two. He gave me his undivided attention, whispered sweet nothings in my ear, making me smile like no one else had. 

And I fell deeply, irreplaceably in love with him. 

It was absolutely wonderful for the first few months but then his suggestions came: he thought I would look better if I wore certain clothes, if I did my makeup differently, if I spoke more formally. He would trail behind me when we were out in public, claiming to protect me from strangers, watching as men of all ages ogled me, approached me and made obscene gestures in my way. But he would always show up in time when someone tried to touch me--I was his and no one else's but he loved that others wanted me. 

The unhappiness crept in slowly. Maybe it started when he began calling me names. Maybe it started when he started shoving me around, telling me I had overreacted. Or maybe it was the first time he left faint bruises. I can't remember everything. 

I never told anyone about what he did, I actually never said a word about having a boyfriend. My parents would say I was too young, and I couldn't tell my friends I was dating a Muggle, they would never speak to me again. So I stayed quiet, using my mom's wand to cover and heal my bruises and scrapes. There had been something telling me what he was doing was wrong, but he truly convinced me that I deserved it.

_“You’re fucking dumb Rosalind, you know that?”_

_“No one else will love you.”_

_“No one else will ever want to be with you.”_

_“You’re overreacting. That didn’t happen.”_

_“It’s all in your head.”_

_“You’re mine.”_

_“You’re nothing without me.”_

I believed him when he said I was worthless. I believed him when he said no one cared about me, they all just wanted to fuck me but he would always be there to protect me. He convinced me that that was what love was supposed to be, and for some twisted reason I thought he loved me too. 

But it only got worse. If I ignored him he’d show up at my house. He followed me for years. 

The first time I caught him cheating on me I didn't say anything. I pretended I didn't know, because I was afraid of him when he was upset. The third and fourth time I opened my mouth, and instead of striking me like I thought he would he smiled.

“What are you talking about Rosie? You must’ve had a bad dream,” his voice was so convincing. “You’re imagining things. I love you. I would never hurt you.” 

He moved a strand of hair from my face, looked into my eyes and told me that he loved me, that even though I was crazy and naive he loved me. And somehow he had done it again, convinced me that I was dumb and worthless. So I pretended it never happened. I became very good at that. 

I stayed with him for so long because I felt suffocated. I was asphyxiating in a world that no one knew about, a world I couldn't tell was my own concoction or reality. I was lost. I didn't know what to do. The worst part was that no one ever asked me if I was okay, they just assumed I was fine. 

He always made me do things to him--filthy things--that I never wanted. No matter how much I begged, I felt I had no choice. And I hated myself so much. But who listens to the silent ones, the ones too afraid to speak? No one does, because no one can see them.

“I missed you,” he had told me.

I smiled. “I missed you too.”

He climbed through my window without asking for permission as if it was his own house, taking his shoes off, and removing his jacket.

“You know we’re not going to do anything right?” I said to him quietly. “I told you before you—“ 

“Yeah you say that, but you’re wearing that?” he said gruffly, ignoring me.

His shirt and torn shorts. I was wearing his shirt. 

“I don’t want to-”

“It hurts-”

“I don’t like this-” 

I begged him to stop, pleading through tears in my eyes as I squired to get him off. Instead he looked right into my eyes, covering my mouth with his hand, leaning his torso onto mine so his weight trapped me onto the bed. And I laid there, helpless, paralyzed in fear. Then he laid next to me upon finishing, sighing as if nothing had happened.

“I feel like you’re using me,” was all I managed to say. 

“Use you?” He scoffed. “I love you Rosie, why would I use you? No one else will love you like I do.” He stumbled to the dresser. “What’s with your weird coin collection?” he asked. I stayed silent, my body in pain. “I’m taking this for gas money. Stop crying. You’re lucky to be with me.” He crawled back out the window, leaving me crying in my bed, blood soaked through my underwear into the sheets. 

It was pathetic that was what it took for me to stop seeing him. I took everything I had to stay away from him. I cried for weeks at school, avoiding everyone. I got sent out of class once for not being able to control my emotions. I couldn't look at anyone in the eye, I couldn't speak without having a panic attack. And no one seemed to notice. I was already invisible at school. 

Finally, a former friend of mine named Amelia approached me. I was crying in the bathroom during our lunch hour again. "What's wrong Rosie?" She asked me. "What's been going on?"

I remember looking at her blue eyes I always envied. I didn't want to say anything, but felt I needed to. 

I told her quickly what he had done, how horrible my life had been because of him. She had a blank look on her face, as if she was unsure what to say. She patted my head like a dog, and finally asked me, "Well what do you think was going to happen when he came over?" She smiled as if it were a joke. She laughed at my horrified face. "And a Muggle, really Rosie? You could do so much better than that. If what you're saying is true, why didn't you use magic against him?" 

My heart dropped in disbelief. "Because I loved him!" I squeaked. "And I thought he loved me too!"

Amelia smiled stiffly, rubbing my arm. "People who love you don't do those kinds of things." She shook her head dramatically, looking at me as if I were a child. 

She laughed nervously, unsure what to do. "You should've done something about it, fought back or said no or something. I thought you were better than that." She gave me one last pitiful look, opened the bathroom door and left. 

Somehow word spread about what happened to me and the whole school knew. Some thought that I was a victim, a poor excuse of a person who was taken advantage of, but most everyone thought it was my fault, that I should've known better, that I should've fought back. I got made fun of mercilessly because I fell in love with a Muggle and didn't use magic to defend myself. 

It seems obvious doesn't it? To use magic when one is in danger? But I was so delusional, so brainwashed that I thought I deserved it. I felt powerless and because of that I never even tried to defend myself. 

I wanted to die. 

I began to wear baggy clothes, I didn't wash my hair or do my makeup, I hardly spoke at all. I hated showering because when I did I would sit on the floor and cry. I didn't want people to think I was pretty and I most definitely didn't want their sympathy. I went from being depressed and deranged to angry, wanting revenge. 

"What's the matter, Morana?" Asked Richard Parks, a boy in my year after school one day on the way to the secret location for the Dueling Club. "Don't you want to come over and hang out? I am Muggleborn you know, I've heard you love them." He flicked his tongue in my direction. 

“Why?” My voice was deadly calm, almost singsong. 

“Why what?” he asked perplexed, his friends snickering.

“Why would you say that? About me loving Muggles?” My face was still, my hand concealed, holding my wand.

“Well if the rumors are true--”

“So you believe everything you hear?” I took a step closer to him, a bead of sweat rippling down his temple. “You want me to come over and fuck you? Is that what you want?”

Richard opened his mouth, eyeing his friends who were equally as shocked by my words. “If you insist--”

“Duel me,” I commanded. “You win, you get to do whatever you want to me. I win, you stay away from me forever.”

Richard grinned. “That’s a bold proposition.” 

“So you’re in then?” I forced a smile, biting my tongue to not give away my chattering teeth. “No rules. All out. Anything goes.”

He glanced at his friends, murmuring their agreement. “Alright then. No disarming or Body Bind Curses. First witch or wizard to get knocked out or is unable to counterattack in five seconds loses.”

“Deal.”

I made my way to the meeting point separately, not caring to hear the whispers about me. The Dueling Club was extremely informal and not sanctioned by the school--it was more of a fight club where students could beat one another up. Dueling was what kept me sane. When I allowed him to do those terrible things to me I failed myself. I didn’t protect myself. I used my free time to study strong magic, mainly offensive, brutal spells because I never wanted to feel that small again. 

Our school was tucked away near Native American tribal land, so it was easy for students to sneak away into the dessert. We’d frequently meet near the river where students would bathe in. The blistering sun pierced my skin as I removed my robes, stuffing them into my backpack. A few duels were scheduled ahead of us, but they weren’t anything impressive. A lot of kids came to the Dueling Club to show off. Not me. I came to control my anger.

The moderator, a last year student, motioned for us to talk to him. “I’ve been told this is an all-out duel. I don’t want anyone dying so be careful, alright?” We nodded, and he clapped his hands, forcing us to bow, our bodies then turning one-hundred and eighty degrees. With each click of his wand we took a step back, my heart beating rapidly as I figured out my gameplan.

_One..two...three._

A red Stunning Spell flew my direction but I stood my ground, holding my wand with both hands as I created a shield, the beam of light clashing with my light blue. I immediately shot him with a bolt of lightning to the chest, his body shivering in convulsions, kicking dust in the air. I waved my wand, the dust now circling him like a tornado, spewing dirt in his face. He coughed, a flame shooting at my shoulder, nearly setting my hair on fire. I doused it, jerking my arm, a large gash slicing his cheek. His eyes widened in shock at what I had done, the dust still circling him. 

I groaned, crashing into the dirt as a rock the size of my torso knocked into my ribs. The crowd “oohed” at my pain, giving me the ammunition I needed to stand. I whispered an ancient spell, glaring at the boy who was nursing the blood on his face. He blinked at me in confusion, his eyes snapping to his arms, whose skin appeared to be bubbling. He attempted to scratch and swat them away, the bubbling now engorging his entire body.

“What is this?” he stammered, pinching himself. “Boiling skin?”

I shook my head. “More like creepy crawlies making their way around your insides.”

_“Crucio!”_

My wrist jerked, proving the weakness of his curse. _“Stupefy!”_

A red jet of light hit him squarely in the chest, knocking Richard into the river, his wand cradling the air. 

“One!” the moderator screamed. One of his friends dove for the wand, catching it before it fell into the water.

“Two!” The roaring river showed no signs of life, let alone a boy. 

“Three!” My heart thudded--he couldn’t have been knocked unconscious, right?

“Four!” Fingertips emerged from the water, a disheveled Richard crawling to the riverbank.

“Five!” A silent firework spurted from the moderator’s wand, signaling the end of the duel. 

The crowd was breathless, awaiting for the boy to speak. He stood gingerly, blood smeared near his eyebrow. “You used Dark Magic against me.”

“So did you,” I quipped. “And it was just an illusion. There wasn’t anything actually crawling underneath your skin.” 

He stared at me, as if examining a specimen, still catching his breath. “But it didn’t work. Dark Magic isn't like regular magic. You have to really want to cause harm.”

“Well I didn’t want to lose.” I threw my nose in the air, feigning confidence. “And you’re alright.”

He continued to stare at me like I was sick pygmy puff, with pity. “But are you?”

My jaw quivered. He ordered his friends to leave as I grabbed my backpack, walking into the darkness so no one could see my pain. I ran into the darkest patch of desert I could find, screaming at the top of my lungs, sparks shooting out of my wand. I couldn’t control my magic sometimes, not when I was in a rage. It was better if I was always alone. 

I became well-known for being a duelist. I relished in the idea that I rarely lost, but since our little Dueling Club was informal, I’d often lose from being ambushed. I had no friends but I was okay with that--I didn’t want to talk about what happened to me because if I did then I would have to acknowledge it actually happened. Instead I internalized the pain and lashed out during duels. It was the only way I was able to cope. 

***

Soon after graduating and before I left for El Salvador, I had the sudden urge to see _him_. I needed closure, to forgive him for what he did. I was convinced he was sick, diseased, that he didn't realize what he did was wrong. 

"Rosie?" His voice was pleasantly surprised. "I thought you disappeared. What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," I said, coming up with the first pretense I could think of. "I just graduated and thought I would say hi."

He grinned at me, glad that I thought about him. He didn't even look handsome to me anymore: that smile that I loved, those strong arms that I admired looked average to me now. Dull. I wondered what I ever saw in him. 

"So," he said as he sat on his couch, not offering me a seat. "What has Rosalind been up to since the day she thought she could leave me?"

I scoffed. He was the same pretentious bastard. I took a seat next to him, observing my surroundings. There were bottles of alcohol everywhere, with needles and bongs scattered all over the floor. 

"Same old, same old," I said, crossing my legs, facing him. "What about you?"

He spread his arms around the back of the couch, putting his masculinity on display. He always had to be in control. "Living the life," he slithered his head back and forth like a snake, speaking in that arrogant tone I hated. "I graduated, I'm working and just chilling, you know?" 

"You're not going to school?" I asked. I remembered that he had ambitions to be an architect. 

"Nah, I don't need school." He grinned, staring me down with that starving look I used to love. "So what are you really doing here? You come here to apologize?"

"For what?" I almost yelled. "I wanted to talk to you."

He leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the couch. "About what?"

"About us." I held my breath, my hands beginning to shake. "About what you did to me." 

He opened his mouth but didn't say anything. "And what do you think I did to you?"

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe he thought I was joking. 

“What you did to me...all those times,” I began nervously. “It was wrong.” I held my breath. "I didn't want to do those things to you. I didn’t want to sleep with you the last night you came over." 

He grinned, that malicious, devilish grin I used to love. "Rosie you have to understand something--you got what you deserved. You're soft. I did those things to you because I knew you weren't going to do anything about it." He laughed coldly, standing up. He loved the dumbfounded and shocked expression on my face, walking over to me slowly. ”I don't know what it is you think I did to you, but it’s all in your head.” 

I froze again, like I always did. I could feel the knot forming in my throat from the verbal blow. He picked me up from the chair, slowly pressing me against the wall.

"You missed it didn't you?" he breathed down my neck. "You missed me being all over you? Couldn't stay away, huh?"

I forced away the tears that were about to stream down my face and instinctively drew out my wand. He saw my weapon and laughed. "What is that, a magic stick? You don't really believe in magic do you?"

"Don't touch me," I warned him. "Touch me and I will fucking kill you."

"Kill me?" He smirked. "Don't be so dramatic. You don't have it in you anyways." He was an inch away from my face, giving me that familiar look that he meant business. 

_"Crucio!"_

His body slammed on the floor; his limbs jerked back and forth, contouring in pain. He looked absolutely horrified. Apologies spurted out of his mouth, gasping for air.

"You're sorry?" I spat. "Now you're fucking sorry?" I laughed cruelly. I stared at his horrified face, stained with fear and misery. _"Crucio!"_

His nerves were on fire: I could see the pained expression on his face, how his body twitched uncontrollably. And I laughed. It was elating to see him in pain. He fucking deserved it. Without thinking, I raised my wand once more. 

_"Avada Kedavra!”_

I let out a dumbfounded breath, staring at his lifeless body for what seemed like an eternity. What had I done?

My head was throbbing, my stomach pulsing into my ribs. I gripped the edge of the wall, sinking to the ground in disbelief in an attempt to stop myself from retching. I had fantasized about this moment for years but I never thought it would actually happen. I didn’t think I was capable of murder.

I raised my wand, knowing I needed to finish the job as fast as I could. I Transfigured his body, shrinking it to the size of a cat. No one would miss a stray, I thought. No one would miss him either, he was a pathetic excuse for a human being. I dumped the body next to a dumpster, where it would be tossed away with the rest of the garbage. 

I thought this was how I would heal, by defeating the ghost of my past. The remainder of the day was a slow blur, but once I returned to my routine I no longer felt guilty. I felt free. He was gone. He couldn't hurt anyone anymore. 

**So this was a long waited and probably overdue chapter, but I felt that this was the correct time for it to be placed. Rosalind is not the innocent character that we met in the first chapter, she might be a little sadistic but she is very traumatized. I hope the flashbacks are okay, I'm trying to place them in areas that correlate with the story. As always, thank you for reading! Next chapter has a lot of drama :)**

**Next chapter: The (After) Life of the Party.**


	16. The Carpal Tunnel of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your boyfriend didn't seem pleased to see you with me."

**Author's note: So in my hurry to post before I left for vacation, I realized I accidentally skipped a chapter. Instead of deleting the previous two and rearranging the order (not sure if I can do that), here it is!**

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

As Rosalind was scribbling away her notes on a roll of parchment chewing away at an apple, a purple interdepartmental memo fluttered onto her desk, marked urgent:

_Dear Officer Rosalind,_

_I had a strange visitor this morning. I’d like to speak with you right away._

_Adriana Holmes_

“What’s that?” Draco asked, looking over the shoulder. 

“It’s from the werewolf victim. She needs to talk to us,” Rosalind replied. “When do you think we should head over?”

Draco glanced at his watch. “The sooner the better. I’ll go notify Bowen and we’ll leave.” Moments later Draco nodded to her and she grabbed onto his arm tightly, holding her breath, Apparating to St. Mungo’s hospital. 

The atmosphere was rushed and bleak; not even the Welcome Witch was even smiling. Healers were being followed by anxious assistants, who were being harassed by even more anxious family members of patients. To the left were the stairs for the Creature Induced Injuries division and they headed to the first floor. A door with a paper nameplate reading _A. Holmes_ was on their right, and seeing that the Head Healer was nowhere around, they let themselves in. 

Adriana was unrecognizable: patches of hair were missing, her nails hardened into a decaying, ugly yellow, and her face was pockmarked with scars--she was looking more like an animal. She recognized her visitors however and made an attempt at a small smile. 

"Hello Adriana," Rosalind greeted kindly. "How are you feeling?"

She huffed out some air, moving a frazzled strand of hair from her face. "I would be lying if I said I felt good."

"What's wrong?" Rosalind asked as she stomped on Draco’s toe when he opened his mouth. 

"I don't really know honestly," she rubbed her forehead with a mangy hand. "I swear I had a visitor this morning but the Healers kept telling me I didn't. But she was so clear and visible, I know I couldn't have possibly made it all up." Her brows knitted together, piecing together her morning. "It was that same girl I saw at the village before I was attacked. She had long dirty blonde curly hair with a bow in it. She spoke in a soft voice, I feel like she was asking me to do something. But then..." She rubbed her temple, struggling to recollect her thoughts. "Everything went white. I remember feeling lightheaded, like I was in a trance. Next thing I knew the Healer's assistants were telling me my body levels were through the roof as if I was under a lot of stress. I told them what happened but they insisted no one was here."

Draco and Rosalind glanced at each other. He tightened his lips and bit his tongue, letting her continue. 

"How long was she in here for?" she asked slowly. "Do you remember any other details such as the time she was here, what she was wearing, specific words she could've said?"

"I'm not too sure,” she said with a sigh. "Probably an hour before I wrote to you. She looked like she hadn't changed her clothes for days, she said something about being able to help me but I told her no. Then everything went white."

Rosalind crossed her arms, stroking her chin. "Is it alright if I inspect you for a moment?" The young girl nodded. She approached her carefully, examining her head and torso. Her head was clean, but there was a faint scratch on the right side of her chest--signs of magic.

“Shit,” Rosalind said as she rubbed the area. Adriana winced in pain. “You’ve been hit with a faulty Memory Charm. Whoever did it either cracked under pressure or has never done it before.” 

“What makes you so sure?” Draco asked skeptically. 

“I’m quite adept at Memory Charms,” she answered darkly. “You always want to strike as close to the head as possible--the cerebrum actually, because the brain deals with memory. If you do it right the target won’t remember the last half an hour of their lives or more.” 

Adriana’s eyes widened. “I had my memory altered? But why?”

“You must have given her an unexpected answer, or maybe someone was coming into the room and she panicked,” Rosalind replied. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault, you have nothing to worry about,” she added when her face paled in horror. “The Healers will take care of you.” Draco left to speak with the Head Healer while Rosalind stayed behind to calm the girl down. “You did the right thing by asking us to talk to you,” she reassured her. “Thank you for trusting us.” 

Adriana smiled half-heartedly. “Thank you for believing me. I was starting to think I was going mad.” 

Rosalind patted her shoulder. “You’re not mad, you’re perfectly fine.” She smiled at the girl, departing with Draco upon the arrival of the Healers.

“That went better than I presumed it would,” he admitted. “She seems to like you more than me.”

“That’s because I approach her better.” Rosalind retorted. A pulsing in her pocket interrupted her, burning her sides. She rummaged through the small batch of coins she had, pulling out the Galleon Hermione gave her with a message etched on the edges. There was a meeting at the Burrow at seven o’clock. 

“You alright?” Malfoy asked in response to her puzzled face. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Want to stop by the cafe?” she asked. “I’m starving.” 

Draco nodded his approval and they headed to the top floor, every floor more frazzled than the last. Misery trailed behind them like a parasite. 

“What do you want?” he asked as they waited in line. 

“I don’t know, a sandwich probably,” she said, scanning the menu. She had lost her appetite. They ordered their food as Rosalind left to grab them a table, bumping into a tall lanky man beside her, almost spilling his tea.

“Oh drat,” the young man said in his friendly voice. “I didn’t even see you there.” 

“George?” Rosalind asked with a laugh, giving him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“One of my regular customers has come down with a case of dragon pox,” he said lifting up a box of remedial tea. “I was stopping by to pay her a visit.” 

“That’s sweet of you,” she said as he bowed his head. 

Draco appeared by her side, food in hand. “Food’s ready,” he said, nodding his head at the only table for two. He glanced up at George, whose posture immediately stiffened. “What are you doing here, Weasley?”

“That is none of your business Malfoy,” he replied coldly. “I didn’t expect to see you here either.” 

Draco sat down, waiting for Rosalind to join him. George stayed put, unhurried to leave. She could feel their glares piercing her, waiting for her next move.

“Well I hope she feels better,” she said to George in a false cheery tone, slowly making her way to the table with a clear of her throat. “I have to get back to work.”

“Yeah, so do I.” George’s face stiffened. “See you tonight.” He left without another word, leaving Rosalind with a pang of guilt in her stomach.

She joined Draco, chewing on her food slowly as she processed their morning. Who would want to speak to Adriana, and why did they perform a Memory Charm on her? “What was that about?” she finally asked.

"What was what about?" he replied nonchalantly.

“I could feel you both glaring daggers at each other.” 

Draco grinned. "Your boyfriend didn't seem pleased to see you with me.” 

“You weren’t exactly welcoming,” she observed. 

“Neither were you, you basically asked him to leave,” he smirked between sips of tea. Rosalind opened her mouth in annoyance before Draco continued. “And you already know the bloke doesn’t like me so that didn’t help.”

Rosalind frowned. "That's not true, we’re working and I’m in work mode right now.”

"Right." He took another sip, still smirking, the cheap china clinking against the saucer. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already told you he doesn't want you around me."

Rosalind crossed her arms, glaring at her partner. "He didn't. He knows we work together."

"So that's why you acted so awkwardly before he left? Because he’s so understanding of the situation? He couldn’t even tell you were upset." 

“What's it matter to you?” she scowled. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

Draco grinned, setting down his tea cup. "What affects you does affect me. That's part of working together. And don't change the subject because you're upset I'm starting to get to know you." 

Rosalind rolled her eyes before slipping a laugh. "Stop being an ass. You don’t know everything about me.” 

Draco returned her laugh. "Please. I probably know more about you than he does."

Rosalind threw a crumpet at him, face flushing. "Can we stop talking about my personal life? We need to get you a girlfriend so I can start making fun of you too."

"So you’re official now?" he asked with a dry laugh.

“No we’re just friends--”

“--who snog, right.” He pulled some Galleons from his pocket to pay for their meals, Apparating back to the Ministry. 

Rosalind sighed into her rickety desk, shoving all thoughts of what Draco had told her to the back of her head and instead focusing on the conversation they had with Adriana. She wrote in her report almost verbatim what she had disclosed, including the bit when she concluded she had been hit with a faulty Memory Charm. She rubbed her temple with her quill, remembering how Draco hypothesized that certain people could be targeted, like Squibs, and laughing at how ridiculous it sounded at the time. 

"Do we have access to the reports from other recent attacks?" she asked a busy Draco who was pouring over his own notes. 

He looked up, removing the quill from his mouth. "Yes. Just go to the file room. You can find anything in there if you look hard enough. Why?"

"Because," Rosalind’s chair screeched as she scooted closer to him. "Remember when you said whoever is attacking these people could be targeting them for a reason? What if they're looking for very specific people, like the poor or Squibs?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Are you saying werewolves are attacking Squibs to make them feel like they're part of the wizarding world?"

"Yes," Rosalind whispered. "And what if they helped that night we were in Azkaban?"

Draco looked unconvinced. "Death Eaters don't see werewolves as equals. They’re not branded with the Dark Mark." 

"But maybe someone else does," she pressed. "Maybe someone else is trying to send a message--and maybe that's why your father didn't escape."

Draco gave her a long, hard look. "You think my father stayed behind because he knew of a plan but didn't agree with its message?" He asked in a harsh tone. 

"Well...is it possible?" she asked hesitantly, hoping she hadn't crossed the line. 

Draco pondered it over for a moment, his pale eyes staring at her. "I suppose it could be. Unless he had another plan in mind."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "Who knows.” He stared at his notes, shifting his body away from her. 

Rosalind sighed, leaning back into her chair. She wished Draco was more enthusiastic about her theory but understood that speaking about his father was a touchy subject. She waited for him to start up another conversation but it never came, so she set off for the filing room by herself. A bored looking wizard was at the door, quill and parchment in hand. 

"Can I help you?" he asked in a dry voice, without glancing at her. 

"Can I please take a look at the reports for the recent creature attacks? It's urgent."

"I'm sure it's very urgent," he replied sarcastically, pushing the parchment towards her. "Write your name and badge number along with the files you're requesting."

"Well you see that's part of the problem," she said innocently, positioning herself closer to him. "I don't know exactly when they're from. Is there any way I can go back there for just five minutes? I promise I'll put them back."

The wizard eyed her with a thin brow. “You’re not authorized to do so.” 

“C’mon,” she groaned. “I just need a few things.” The wizard wouldn’t budge. She dropped her voice to a whisper as he continued to shake his head, muttering about no authorization. _“Imperio.”_

His eyes glazed over, a gleeful smile overcoming his face. “Please, help yourself.” 

Rosalind grinned and went to work, ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest. She thumbed through several files, pulling out photographs of gruesome scenes: several young men and women with their faces ripped off, wrecked to pieces with brute force. No, that wasn’t what she was looking for. There was another file that contained a map of criminal activity in the last year. Inside it contained a list of the wizards, witches and Muggles alike who had reported strange activity or sounds of an ambush in their area. She tucked the reports into the same file, leaving in a rush before anyone could walk by. 

Draco glanced over her desk with an inquiring look on his face. “What’s that?”

“Research,” she said simply, spreading the maps and photographs. Arrows squirmed around the edges of the pages, notes that others had left snaked their way around the border, begging to be read. It looked like whoever had last seen the file was on to something: Muggles were being attacked to be killed, yet wizards were being attacked to be kept alive. Rosalind tapped her toe on the cold floor, scratching away at a roll of parchment beside her. There had to be a connection--she was onto something, but couldn’t quite describe it. 

Draco snapped his notebook shut as screeching chairs signaled the end of their shift, tucking it neatly into a briefcase. “See you tomorrow, Morana. Take it easy with your little friend.” He departed with a smirk on his face. 

***

Rosalind walked home alone, enjoying the crisp air and warm sunlight. She trotted through the cobbled street of Diagon Alley and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, a small urge creeping inside her to step inside. George was obviously irked about what happened at St. Mungo’s but it probably was best to not bother him at work. Maybe she could catch him early at the Burrow instead. 

"Hello dearie you're early!” an enthusiastic Mrs. Weasley greeted her. “Come on in, Harry, Ron and Hermione are already here as well." She walked into the dining room where the Golden Trio were seated, in the middle of a heated quidditch debate. "Go on, make yourself at home." She smiled warmly and left for the kitchen to finish dinner. 

Hermione smiled and motioned for her to join them. Rosalind took a seat, smiling shyly, still intimidated by them. Harry and Ron gave her a friendly greeting before continuing their debate. Ginny soon joined them and she and Hermione were the odd ones out.

"I've been meaning to ask you, how was your date with George?" Hermione asked as the others blabbed on. 

"It was good," she replied with a smile. "He took me to Hogwarts since someone informed him I've never been there before." She shot Hermione a playful look and she smiled knowingly. "It was a lot of fun and I really enjoyed it. We’ve been seeing each other a lot. He's a really sweet guy." 

"So what's the problem?" she asked, sensing her uneasiness. 

Rosalind shrugged. "There isn't. Well..." She sighed, glancing around at the others who were still heavily engaged in their conversation. "He knows I work with Draco but he acts so weird about it. He told me he doesn't like him and doesn't want me to be friends with him. We ran into him today at St. Mungo's and I think it upset him. I didn't really talk to him because I was already speaking with Draco about a patient we visited for one of our cases."

Hermione set her tea down, mulling over her words. "Well you do know why they don't like each other don't you? A Death Eater killed his twin brother."

“What? No I--he hasn’t talked about him much actually,” she admitted. 

“Well maybe you two should get to know each other a little more rather than just physically,” she said as Rosalind’s face flushed.

"You’re right,” she said, face still burning. “But it's not like I had a choice to work with him, we were assigned to each other. I guess I don't know why I feel so guilty about it," she concluded. 

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "I think he might have been a tad jealous he gets to spend so much time with you. You should talk to him, I'm sure he'll understand.” 

"I hope so,” she said unconvinced. 

A group of voices echoed by the door, and a flood of wizards took their places at the table. There were a few new faces, who Rosalind learned to be that of Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas. They gave her an amicable greeting, with Luna speaking to her about strange creatures called nargles. 

“Good evening everyone,” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice boomed throughout the room, immediately bringing it into silence. “We have much to discuss tonight. There was a recent breach of security at Azkaban, as some of our fellow members witnessed firsthand. There are no leads as of yet as to who or what caused it, except that it was likely not human.” He scanned the room, taking in the stoic reactions. “If anyone has any information or theories, don’t hesitate to come forward.” Murmurs erupted, and several members voiced their opinions. An older witch argued that someone from the Ministry could have been involved but that was quickly shot down.

Rosalind cleared her throat, raising her hand. “I have a theory, sir.” The Minister nodded, signaling her to speak. “I took some time today to look through several files of attacks in the area, particularly ones from magical creatures. The past few months upwards to the last year there has been a pattern of groups normally considered weak that have been targeted. I don’t think that was an accident.” She looked around, waiting for someone to yell out her idea was stupid but it didn’t come. “A victim in one of my cases was attacked by a werewolf and had a strange visitor at St. Mungo’s today that appears to have asked her to join something. She doesn’t remember exactly because she was hit with a Memory Charm, but she remembered enough information that she had a vague description of her visitor. She also happens to be a Squib, and I think that could have been the reason why she was targeted. She was selected in a way, to possibly join something that is trying to send a message.” Her palms began to sweat as the room listened intently. 

“And what message would that be?” the Minister asked.

“Well magical creatures are not very high up in the social hierarchy. Werewolves worked with Death Eaters before but were not seen as equals, they were never branded the Dark Mark. What if--what if there is a group that is fed up? Tired of being seen as second-class, as not human enough or too animal-like?” She raised her shoulders as the room continued to stare at her in silence. She sighed. She shouldn’t have said anything. No one cared about what she had to say--what was she thinking?

“What if they’re working with the Death Eaters?” Dean Thomas piped in. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that almost all of them escaped.” 

“Not all of them did there was one who didn’t--”

“Malfoy probably tipped someone off so they left him in there!” Dean retorted. “He’s probably the dodgiest out of all of them I wouldn’t be surprised if he was planning another war!”

Kingsley Shacklebolt raised his hand and Rosalind bit back her remark. He thanked Rosalind for her contribution, and continued speaking to the Order. Rosalind crossed her arms, letting out an annoyed grunt. Why the hell did she open her mouth? It was a stupid theory and she had no solid proof. 

She barely ate, annoyed and embarrassed that Dean kid completely shut her down in front of everyone. George hadn’t spoken to her yet either. He sat by his older brother Percy, who was droning on about a cauldron bottom essay he wrote several years ago. 

Once dinner was over she helped Mrs. Weasley with the dishes and cleaned up the table, making small talk with the merry witch. Upon finishing the chores she said goodbye to the group, departing for the door. She had only taken a few steps when a longing voice spoke behind her. 

“You didn't think I’d let you leave without saying goodbye did you?”

She scowled, facing him with a saddened expression on her face. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” 

George frowned, taking a seat on the cobbled half wall. “I notice more than you realize.”

“Like what?” she asked curiously. 

“Like you don’t think anyone takes you seriously.”

She frowned, taking the seat next to him. “You got that right.” She pinched the skin on her thumb, a nervous habit. “I don’t like feeling like what I have to say doesn’t matter.” 

George smiled, wrapping his arms around her. “You shouldn’t. You’re a beautiful and smart witch with a lot of potential. I’m sure your family is very proud of you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said in a low voice, her breath stiffening. He gave her a concerned look as she avoided his gaze. “I don’t have a family George, they’re all gone. My parents--they died. A few years ago. The rest of my family disappeared during the civil war before I was born. So other than my sister I don’t have anyone.” 

He held her tightly, stroking her head with a sympathetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should’ve asked sooner,” he said, his eyes brimming with tenderness. 

“Don’t be, it’s not something I talk about often.” She tensed her jaw. ”I don’t really know how to bring it up.” 

Several moments passed them in silence. She held his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her forehead gently, wiping away a single tear. “I apologize about earlier today. I know I was being a git.” 

She smiled, glad he changed the subject. “It’s alright. I know I didn’t handle that too well. I was meaning to talk to you about that.”

“About me acting like a git?” he asked playfully.

“No,” she laughed. “About earlier at St. Mungo’s. I thought you were mad at me.”

George twisted his mouth, curling it into an awkward shape. “I wasn’t angry. Not really.” He hesitated, rubbing his nose in the process. “I was happy to see you but when I saw Malfoy there as well I became a bit jealous. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.” 

“Why would you be jealous?” she asked. “It’s not like he doesn’t know about you.” 

“I dunno. I suppose I like you more than I thought.” He rubbed her head, pulling her closer. “I haven’t felt like that in a long time.” He let out a long sigh, giving her a longing, sad smile. “I was in a relationship ages ago with someone I went to school with. I was heartbroken when it ended and I don’t think I’m quite over it.” He squeezed her hand, lost in thought. “I think I wanted her to be The One, which made the breakup that much harder.”

Rosalind nodded, surprised he was opening up to her. “How do you feel about it now?”

“Honestly? A part of me is still hurt and I don’t want to get hurt again.” 

“I understand,” she nodded. “Kind of--I’ve only ever really had one relationship and it was awful. But because of it it I feel like I have no idea what to do when I like someone since I assume the worst.”

“You won’t have to worry about that with me,” he grinned. “I like that we are taking things very slowly. There’s no pressure to take it any further.” 

“I like it too,” she whispered, his nose touching hers for a kiss. Her stomach lurched, her mind racing for the right words. She pulled away, averting her eyes to the garden gnomes tip-toeing around the yard. “There’s a lot in my life that no one knows about and I’ve always been afraid of opening up about it because I think it’ll drive them away.” 

He leaned his head away from her, swallowing her words. “We don’t have to talk about the past. Not if you don’t want to. We can take this as slow as we both need to.” 

Rosalind smiled in relief. “Thank you. I don’t want to push you away.” 

“Nonsense,” he grinned. She wrapped her arms around his torso with a smile painted on her face, her stomach filled with the uneasiness of the false confidence in his words. 

**Next chapter: Famous Last Words.**


	17. The (After) Life of the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't know you hung out with Slytherins."

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.** ****

Rosalind kept herself occupied during the next several weeks between juggling George and the Weasley-Potter-Granger clan, and her new friends Daphne, Ares, and Pansy. Occasionally Blaise, Draco, and a Theodore Nott would join them, though not very often. They welcomed her into their circle seamlessly, spending their days out for tea, window shopping, or perusing bookstores. As polite as the trio and George’s family treated her, she couldn’t help but feel misplaced. They were war heroes, greatly respected in society--Rosalind was the mere new witch on the block. 

The crime wave had subdued, and Rosalind hadn’t discussed her theory with anyone, still embarrassed after the meeting with the Order. Not even with George, who appeared more interested in the present moment. ****

"So," George said one evening in his flat when they were lounging in front of the fire. "If I remember correctly, your birthday is coming up soon." ****

Rosalind unwrapped her arms from his neck, tucking her head underneath his arm. "I'm surprised you remembered." ****

He gave her that lopsided, one eared grin she loved. "I never forget anything you tell me," he said slyly. He propped her up on his lap, rubbing her thigh. "So what would you like to do? Dinner, a night out on the town? Or would you like a fancy present instead?" ****

"You really don't have to do anything for me,” she smiled timidly. ****

"Oh but I want to," he added, flicking the tip of her nose. ****

She grimaced playfully with a shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know honestly, I don’t normally do anything." She caressed his face, gazing into his gentle eyes. "Surprise me." ****

"You sure about that?" he asked. "I might get carried away." ****

"Yes I'm sure," she said with a laugh. "Whatever you want I'll love it. I promise." ****

He grinned mischievously, taking a swig of hot chocolate. "Alright but don't say I didn't warn you." ****

"I won't." She hugged him tightly, inhaling the sweet scent of sugar cookies and cinnamon. He always smelled like a bakery. ****

"There is something I'd like to do the night before though." She walked over to her cloak on the floor and pulled out an invitation with a large M stamped on the front. She plopped onto his lap again, handing it to George. "We're having some type of Halloween party for work, but Hermione said anyone's allowed to come. It’s more of a community event." He read the invitation as she continued. "There is a twist though--we have to wear masks and the masks disguise our facial features so that they look different to every person in the room. Even our voices will be different. Part of the theme is to dress up, and everyone has to guess who's who." ****

"Interesting," he said as he tossed it onto the table. "Are you asking me to be your date?" ****

"I am actually," she smiled. "Will you do me the honors?" ****

"Of course m'lady," he gave her a mock bow. "Consider it a date." He kissed her sweetly, sighing because he knew what he was going to say next. "It is short notice however, and that is typically a busy night at the shop. If I do need to cancel I'll make sure to let you know before the party starts." ****

Rosalind’s face fell. "I'll try not to be too disappointed if you don't go." ****

"Don't worry love, you're always at the top of my priority list." He moved a strand of hair from her face, smiling back at her. "I'll do my best." ****

Rosalind pouted but gave him another hug. Her heart fluttered almost uncomfortably whenever he looked at her. He threw her over his shoulders and set her on his bed, crawling over her body. "Have I ever told you how happy you make me?"he whispered. She shook her head, grinning from ear to ear. "The happiest I've been in ages." He lifted her chin, moving into a deep, passionate kiss. She wrapped her legs around his torso, pulling their bodies as close as possible. He kissed her neck, trailing her body with lustful pecks, only stopping when she told him to. ****

Rosalind laid her head on his chest, unable to stop smiling. "Why are you so sweet to me?" ****

"Because," he said proudly, sitting up on the bed. "I can't find any faults in you." ****

The corners of her mouth quivered, her gaze shifting away from him. "I have a lot of flaws, trust me." ****

"Well I don't see them," he said matter-of-factly, kissing her forehead. "I think you’re great.” She smiled forcefully, pangs of emotion brewing in her gut as George traced patterns on her forearm. “Say, how’d you get these?” he asked, his eyes etching the scars tattooed on her right arm. “Are these from the same time as the ones on your side?” ****

She nodded, retreating her hands as if she burned him. “I got into a fight a few years ago. A duel. He didn’t fight fair.” ****

“A duel?” he asked with a frown. “What were you doing dueling?” ****

“It was part of my job,” she said slowly, hiding her arm underneath the other. “Well kind of--I did a myriad of things in El Salvador. Sometimes that meant dueling.” ****

“It’s a bit dangerous out there, innit? What did he do to you?” ****

She twisted her lips into an uncomfortable sentence. “He smashed a glass table and had the shards stab me. I almost died.” ****

George cocked his head, giving her a sympathetic pat on the hand. “What happened to him?” ****

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “It was a bit of a blur.” ****

His lips thinned into a taught smile. “Well I’m glad you’re alright.” He patted her hand once more, standing to wave his wand, the butternut squash ravioli on the stove now neatly arranged on his table with glasses of mead. "Your sister's coming home soon from Hogwarts isn't she? I bet you're excited." ****

"Yeah I'm absolutely excited," she replied, relieved yet crestfallen he changed the subject. "I can't wait to see her. I know she'll really like you." ****

He took a sip of mead. "I'm sure she'll like the family too." He took several bites, swallowing his nerves. "My mum's been asking about you. She wants to know if you'd like to come over for Christmas this year. Emma is invited too, of course." ****

Rosalind dropped her fork in surprise. "Really?" ****

"Really really." ****

A knot tugged at her throat. "I would love to." ****

George tousled her hair, kissing the side of her head. "Good, I was hoping you'd say that." He refilled their glasses and they raised them together in a toast. He took her hand, caressing it. "It means a lot to me that you're going to be there. I have an obnoxiously large family though, I hope that doesn't overwhelm you," he added with a laugh. ****

“Of course not,” she said, her stomach happy it was being fed. “My sister is a bit shy though so she’ll probably be quiet most of the time.” ****

“Well lucky for her they’ll be lots of children around for her to make new friends.” He tucked a curl behind her ear before glancing at his watch, heaving a big sigh. "Sorry love, my next shift is starting in five minutes." He grabbed his maroon robes, fixing his hair that she made untidy. "I'll see you tomorrow, same time?" ****

She sat up, grabbing her cloak and belongings. "I'm going costume shopping for the party tomorrow, but I can stop by afterwards around seven, is that okay?" ****

"Of course darling." He gave her a chaste kiss before they headed towards the door. "Don't have too much fun." ****

"Not without you I won't," she answered. He smiled, and they departed, leaving her with a knot of emotions in her stomach. ****

***

"Oohh, do you have any idea what you're gonna be yet?" an excited Pansy Parkinson asked. "You should be a circus ringmaster, and Daphne a pirate!" ****

They were standing inside of Madam Malkin's Robes, browsing through the costumes. The shop was larger than she thought it would be, almost as big as a Muggle department store. Halloween had imploded inside the shop, complete with talking shrunken heads and skeletons at every corner. ****

"I think Daphne should be the ringmaster" she replied, pulling out a revealing ensemble for her. "Since she’s sultry and bossy.” ****

Daphne let out a sample of her tinkering, chiming laugh. "I actually like that idea." She looked through the women's section, trying to find the perfect outfit, removing several costumes from the rack. "What are you going as Pansy?" ****

"I'm not sure," she answered, taking a look at a cowgirl costume. "I asked Blaise to come with me but he claimed he was already going with someone but wouldn’t tell me who.” She pulled out a flapper costume, admiring the hanging beads on the thread. "So I’m going with Theo instead.” She frowned her approval at the flapper costume. ****

A small body appeared by Daphne, tugging her leg. "Mummy, the lady over there wants to talk to you," he said timidly. ****

Daphne glanced over at an astute looking woman, whose pursed lips disappeared into her saggy skin. "Oh drat," she said with a long sigh. "That's one of our clients, she'll want to talk to me about a donation. Watch Ares, will you Rosalind? This shouldn't take long." Rosalind nodded, and Daphne left to greet the old woman with a loud, fake laugh. She ran a charity with Astoria that worked with underprivileged kids and their parents, particularly half-blood children that needed education about the wizarding world prior acceptance into Hogwarts to lessen the culture shock. ****

Ares looked up at Rosalind, showing off his new set of teeth with a big smile. "Look Rosie-Linda I'm getting my big boy teeth now." He proudly showed off his chompers, growling like a lion. ****

"I see," she said with a laugh. "Are you dressing up this year Ares?" ****

He nodded, pointing to a statue of a tiger. "That's what I'm gonna be!" ****

"Can you show me your best tiger face?" she asked. ****

Ares scrunched his nose, baring his tiny teeth. "Rawr!" He stomped his feet, on the prowl. "Am I scary?" ****

Rosalind and Pansy laughed. "Yes, so scary," she said as he rubbed his eyes. "Are you tired?" ****

The boy nodded, lifting his arms up to be carried. Rosalind held him as his eyes began to droop, still casually browsing with Pansy. ****

A tiny body with brown hair and dark eyes ran beneath the racks, looking like it was hiding from someone. "Bet you can't find me!" It cried, hiding by the statue of a warty hag. ****

"Who that?" Ares asked confused, looking beneath items of clothes for the boy. "Who that Rosie-Linda?" ****

"I don't know," she replied. "I wonder why he's hiding." ****

They moved by the statue, looking for the boy but someone else had taken his place. This one had blonde hair with a button nose and blue eyes. ****

"Boo!" He jumped from behind them, his facial features suddenly changing: he now had a hawk-like beak for a nose and piercing black eyes. ****

Ares threw his head back frightened, eyes bulging from his sockets. ****

"Ha! Scared you!" The strange boy laughed. ****

Ares hid his face behind Rosalind, annoyed. "Did not!" He retorted. ****

"Teddy!" A familiar voice came from another rack. "That wasn't very nice!" ****

A pretty brunette emerged with a fiery redhead, ready to scold the boy. "Apologize to him Teddy," she said sternly. ****

The boy named Teddy frowned, sticking his tongue out when the redhead wasn't looking. He turned to Ares, swinging his arms back and forth, speaking in a low, monotonous voice and staring at the ground. "Sorry for scaring you." ****

"It's okay," Ares said kindly. "I'm Ares! A-r-es." He held out his hand like any proud three year old would to shake the other boy's hand. ****

The boy named Teddy gave him a lopsided look but took his hand regardless. "My name's Teddy, I'm a Metamorphmagus. I get it from my mum. See?" He scrunched his face, looking like the boy they first saw. ****

"Wicked!" Ares cried, impressed. ****

The two women smiled, finally realizing who was in front of them. "Oh Rosalind!" Hermione said in surprise. "What a surprise.” ****

"I'm just shopping for the Halloween party," she said after she greeted Ginny. "What are you doing here?" ****

"Same," she answered. "Ginny thinks it'd be a good idea to dress me up as a Quidditch player." ****

"Because you don't know a speck about Quidditch!" she explained. "It would be funny." ****

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Only if you go as the Frog Princess and Harry goes as a frog." She laughed seeing her expression. "Is this your son?" she asked, her brow creasing. "I thought you only had a sister?" ****

"Who Ares? Oh no he's not mine, he's Daphne's son." He wriggled out of her arms to play with the skeletons in the corner with Teddy. He was going hysterical at all the different things Teddy could turn into. ****

"Daphne?" Ginny asked skeptically. "As in Daphne Greengrass?" ****

"Yeah that's the one," she said as Pansy joined them. ****

The air immediately thickened at her presence; Rosalind had never seen Hermione look disgusted before. ****

"I didn't know you two were friends," Hermione said as Pansy glared at the girls but smiled at Rosalind. ****

"We're the best of friends," the pug faced girl answered mockingly, linking her arm into Rosalind's. "Rosie here is quite fun to be around." She gave them a devilish grin. ****

"You guys all know each other?" Rosalind asked, perplexed. ****

"We were in the same year at Hogwarts," Hermione said dryly. "Didn't talk to each other much." ****

"Granger, Weasley,” Pansy greeted with a sneer. “Still snogging Potter and half the school?” Before Ginny could answer, she rolled her eyes, already bored with the conversation. "I'll go get Ares, Daphne should be done soon." She left, leaving Rosalind feeling as if she were the one who slut-shamed Ginny. ****

"I didn't know you hung out with Slytherins," Hermione said, stung. ****

"I just met them a few weeks ago," she said honestly. "I’m sorry about what she said. I’ve never heard her say anything like that before.” ****

She gave a stiff laugh, a scar on her arm flashing the word Mudblood. "See you at work Rosalind," she said in a low voice as Ginny fetched a disgruntled Teddy, who was upset that he was leaving his new friend already. ****

Rosalind watched the trio head out the door with their purchases, upset about the scenario. She didn’t realize how small the wizarding world was. If everyone at Draco’s house knew each other, why didn’t she think they wouldn’t know Hermione and Ginny as well? She felt like she had crossed some invisible line, a line that she wouldn’t be able to move back to. ****

She sighed, and Daphne walked back towards them with a few dresses in her hands. “I found the perfect costume for you Rosalind.” She grinned, throwing the heavy fabric at her. It was a dark red corset with black lacing, complete with a frilly, ruffled matching skirt and black garters with stockings. “A saloon girl! You’re from the Wild West aren’t you? Go on, try it on!” ****

Before she knew it she was inside the fitting room, squeezing into the tiny costume. She had never worn anything so revealing in her life--the corset made her waist look shockingly small while pushing her breasts in the air, defying gravity; the skirt accentuated her long, dark legs and the garters were a sultry touch. ****

“Where are you?” Daphne whined. “Let us see!” ****

Rosalind stepped out slowly, feeling naked. Daphne and Pansy’s jaws dropped when they saw her. “Does it look okay?” she asked when they stayed quiet. ****

“Okay? That’s the one you need!” Daphne had a hungry look in her eyes, grabbing her hand and making Rosalind turn around completely. ****

“Yes, definitely,” Pansy added. “Draco won’t be able to keep his eyes off of you,” she giggled. ****

“He only has eyes for Astoria,” she grumbled, her face flushing. ****

They rolled their eyes at the same time, laughing. “I don’t know, he seems to be awfully possessive when you’re around. I think he might fancy you,” Daphne said with a smirk. ****

“No way, we work together,” she quipped. “We’re pretty good friends. That’s it.” ****

“He’s betrothed to my sister anyway,” Daphne sighed. “Not that either of them want it. The plights of being born into high-class Pureblood society.” She sighed, nodding towards the dress. “Are you getting that? The costume, I mean.” ****

Rosalind glanced down at the price tag, it was much more expensive than she imagined it would be. “I was but I don’t think I can wear it,” she lied. “It’s not exactly my style, and it doesn’t look right on me.” ****

“Are you mad?” Pansy asked. “It fits you like a glove.” ****

“Let me see it,” Daphne demanded. She took the costume and added it to her pile, taking it to the witch at the register. ****

“Daphne you really don’t have to--” ****

“Oh stop,” she said ravenously, shooing her hand away. “Consider it a favor. You’ll thank me later.” She pulled out a large stack of Galleons and handed Rosalind her costume. “Use it wisely,” she said with a wink. She thanked her as they made their way out the door, feeling much worse than when she first stepped in. ****

***

Rosalind sighed into her mug, inhaling the sweet scent of chamomile, gazing out her window. The steam warmed her dark lashes, reminding her that she was still alive. Emma was coming home for the holidays soon and as excited as she was it was weighing on her conscience. The older Emma became the more questions she’d ask about their parents, and their sudden move to England. The more she’d ask about why they had no other family, of what happened when--

She closed her eyes, pressing her lips against the warmth of the mug, ignoring her intrusive thoughts. It was an abnormally quiet and unbusy day, the perfect environment for the lingering whispers to crescendo. She dug her nail into her thumb as a simple distraction, inhaling a deep breath, releasing a long draft of air. She didn’t like to dwell on her adventures in El Salvador because they signaled the darkest period of her life. A darkness that no one could know about. She did what she did in the name of justice and peace, without conscience or taking a moment to think about the families of the people she hurt. ****

Growing up she believed people were either good or bad, like in the Muggle films. But the older she grew the more she realized that the world isn’t split between good people and Death Eaters. Even someone like Rodolphus Lestrange showed a capacity for love, being a devoted father despite his treacherous faults. Rodolphus had never harmed Ares because he loved him. But Rosalind had done things to Emma--for Emma--to better their circumstances. Did that make her worse than Rodolphus? Was she just short of a Death Eater, without the branding on her forearm? ****

She gripped her mug tightly, her knuckles turning white. She thought she made progress where her intrusive thoughts remained shoved in the back of her mind, instead of the forefront like today. She inhaled again, holding her breath to keep the tears from seeping through the corners of her eyes as the two narrators spoke loudly. ****

_You're worthless. ****_

_No one will love you. ****_

_You deserve to die alone. ****_

_I'm the only person that can take care of you. ****_

_You're a terrible person. ****_

_A murderer._ ****

Rosalind’s breathing became ragged as the walls of the room shrunk into her. She placed a hand on her chest for stability, her other hand holding onto the ear of the mug before both hands slammed against her temples, snapping her eyes shut and trapping the negativity. She managed to hold in a sob before forcing herself to stand, gritting her teeth. She had a party to get to. ****

She splashed cold water on her face, applying a few wipes of mascara, winged eyeliner, and a rosy shade of lipstick. She shuddered upon examining herself in the mirror, scantily clad in the racy outfit. She charmed her shoes to feel as comfortable as her trainers, knowing otherwise they’d hurt on the walk to the hotel. Her curls bounced against her mid back, the front pinned to the back of her head, accentuating her face. She picked up the gold mask gingerly, touching it against her nose and cheeks, sticking to her with the force of a suction cup and melting into her face, invisible. She frowned, expecting the magic to be instantaneous but instead she looked the same. The magic must work for everyone except the wearer. ****

She threw a pinch of Floo Powder into her fireplace, thrust around and finding herself in a dark, elegant lobby with rich mahogany paneling and marble flooring leading into a grand staircase that spiraled upwards into the various rooms. The lobby and adjacent rooms were decorated with black and purple drapes and floating jack o'lanterns. Fog swirled through their ankles, a cauldron sat over a fire, brewing several drinks, and goblins and house elves (or perhaps they were people?) served the guests. ****

An old wizard with a comical monocle and top hat with coattails stood outside the door of the main room. Rosalind smiled, thinking he looked like the Monopoly Man. His grayed mustache curled at the corners, and he looked down at the list before greeting her. "Miss Morana with the Ministry, is that correct?" ****

Rosalind nodded in surprise. "How'd you know that?" ****

The old man winked. "I've been doing this for many years, I begin to recognize everyone,” he grinned, allowing her entry. ****

The music pulsed through her as she glanced around the room for familiar faces but there were none. The guests were completely unrecognizable, the magic of the masks in full effect. She draped her arm against the other, scanning the room for a hint of her friends. ****

"Is this your first time here?" a hunchbacked witch with warts spurting from her nose asked. "You look confused, let me help you." Rosalind nodded her thanks. "When you look in the mirror, you see yourself, is that right? You can’t even see the mask. The way everyone here sees you is a reflection about how you feel about each other. If they don't like you, you might look like an old hag to them." The lady chuckled, plopping a berry into her mouth. "If they do, then they'll stand out. Those are the one's you're looking for." She pointed at a gruffy looking vampire, standing by the punch bowl. "See him over there? What's he look like to you?" ****

"Like a middle-aged man dressed as a vampire," Rosalind answered. "Nothing special." ****

The hag smiled. "Then it's safe to say you either don't know each other or have no opinion of each other. To me he looks like the most handsome person I've ever seen." She smiled in his direction longingly. "Watch out though, the magic wears off at midnight. The best part of the game is guessing who everyone is. The only reason you will be able to know what someone really looks like is if you knew what their costume was beforehand." She grinned, leaving to go after the stout vampire. ****

Hmm, Rosalind thought, wondering what she looked like to her. She scanned the room again, hoping to see anyone that could be a friend. A pretty woman in a Quidditch costume was laughing in the corner with a mummy, along with a princess and a frog. That must be the Golden Trio and Ginny. Her stomach pained, wanting to say hi, still feeling guilty about what Pansy had said. On the other side of the room was a tall, curvy ringmaster with her magical whip, accompanied by a flapper and warrior woman with an arrogant strut. That had to be Daphne and Astoria with Pansy. She wondered where Blaise and Draco were, hoping George would show up soon. ****

A passing goblin held out trays of food, handing her a plate of fruit and two shots of fire whisky. She leaned against the wall, gulping down the liquor seamlessly, enjoying the burning sensation in her throat and the wooziness in her head. ****

"Are you here by yourself?" A surprised voice asked her. ****

Rosalind turned to see a lanky mummified wizard. "Yeah, I guess so." ****

"Why don't you go with your friends?" he asked. ****

She shrugged. "I don't think they'd recognize me." ****

"That's part of the game, silly," Ron said, grabbing one of her strawberries. "You have to know at least someone here." ****

"I know who you are," she said, Ron giving her a perplexed look. "Ron Weasley? A third of the Golden Trio?" ****

He grinned, taking another cookie. "Right you are. I must know you then right?" ****

"We work together," she hinted. "I got us out of Azkaban." ****

Ron's eyes widened. "Rosalind? Blimey! You look great!" He glanced over at Hermione who was busy with another guest, his ears reddening. "Don't tell Hermione I said that, she might possibly go ballistic. She says I have no tact and don't think before I speak," he grumbled. ****

Rosalind laughed. "I won't don't worry." She eyed him as he devoured her food. "Did she say anything about Madam Malkin's to you by any chance?" ****

Ron nodded slowly, choosing his words. "Yeah, she seemed upset her and Ginny found you hanging with Parkinson and Daphne.” ****

"Oh," she said quietly. "I didn't know they don't like each other." ****

"It’s a bit deeper than that," he said with a stiff laugh. "The Greengrasses are alright but it's Parkinson and her lot that hate us." ****

"Hate?” she asked curiously. “What happened?" ****

"Well Parkinson's more of a bully but Zabini and Malfoy spent a lot of time with a rough crowd. Liked to start fights." He bit away at a gummy spider. "They're not good people to keep around." ****

"I like Blaise," she inquired. "And I like Daphne. Astoria is a bit stuck up though." ****

"A bit?" Ron laughed, gulping down some mead. "They're so arrogant they wouldn't look twice at a blood traitor like me. They have a very select circle of friends. They don't associate with new people very often." ****

Rosalind laughed dryly. "I wonder what makes me so special then." ****

"Because you're a Pureblood of course," he said with a mouthful of food. "Newcomers don't come around here often, and people like them want to snag them away to keep the bloodlines going." He gulped loudly, wiping his mouth on his bandages. "George is coming right?" ****

"Yeah I hope so," Rosalind said, perking up. "He said he'd let me know if he wasn't coming and so far he hasn't said no." ****

"That's good," Ron said, taking a thunder cracker. "He really likes you, you know, I haven't seen him this happy in ages." ****

She smiled brightly, flattered. "I like him a lot too. He's really nice to me." ****

Ron stood, clapping her on the back. "You're good for him. I really like you two together." He smiled awkwardly, still keeping an eye out for Hermione. "And don't worry I don't think they're mad at you, they just want you to be careful." ****

"Careful about what?" ****

"There's rumors going round that the Death Eaters are plotting something. They'd be the first to know and if they needed to they'd betray you in a heartbeat." He gave her a knowing look. "See you around, tell George he better give me some of his new product. I swear he's charging me extra for being his brother." ****

"Will do," she said with a smile. ****

Ron left to join the others leaving Rosalind by herself once more. No one had particularly stood out to her and she was starting to think she didn’t stand out to anyone else either. She slumped her head onto the palm of her hand, blowing a curl from her face. A rather handsome voice crept up behind her whispering in her ear, "I was starting to think I wasn't going to find you." ****

Rosalind turned around to see the most breathtaking human being she had ever laid eyes on: he was tall, with thick, strong limbs, skin as dark as night and piercing, soulful dark eyes. He appeared to be made of marble. ****

She jumped, hugging him and tousling his hair. "I'm glad you were able to make it." ****

"Of course. Wouldn't miss an opportunity like this for anything." He poured himself large shots of alcohol, downing them like an expert. He observed her, carefully examining her body. "You look great." ****

She smiled. "I'm glad you like it." He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. Shivers shot through her spine, her body tingling. ****

"How long are you planning on staying?" he asked, his voice thick like molasses. ****

"I’m not sure, I was gonna leave that up to you." ****

"There are plenty of rooms we can rent out," he said with a wink. ****

Rosalind’s face flushed. "Oh I don't know," she said teasingly. "I might need some convincing for that to happen." She smirked, licking the edge of her spoon. ****

He ogled her, returning her sly grin. "We both know I can be very persuasive," he challenged, his mouth inches from hers. ****

"Try me," she dared. "Bet you can't." ****

The handsome man smiled, caressing her thumb with his. "Feisty today aren't you?" ****

She grinned at him, interrupted by clapping and hundreds of bodies facing the main door, as The Weird Sisters had arrived. The crowd cheered, Rosalind swaying her body to the beat, uncaring of who saw. The wizard tucked himself behind her, his arms wrapped low around her waist, his fingers prickling her sides, electrifying her. ****

"C'mon take another one!" she said to him after dancing to several songs. The pair had already taken two shots of whiskey, evidenced by their near-slurred words. ****

He threw it into his throat, gurgling and grimacing. "That is vile," he muttered, wiping his mouth. ****

Rosalind giggled, her head beginning to feel heavy. She grabbed his hands, pulling him closer to her, staring up into his eyes. She closed her eyes to inhale his scent, opening them to see him staring at her hungrily. He cupped her chin, their lips meeting into a deep, passionate kiss that caused her to forget they were in public. He released her face to grab her waist, his tongue searching for the seam of her lips to deepen the kiss. She panted when their lips parted, their eyes locking in surprise. ****

He jerked his head to the side, motioning for her to follow him. He led them out the main doors and to the staircase to the top floor, where the most extravagant rooms were. He took out a key, unlocking the door and revealing a classically elegant room with minimalist furniture and an entire wall devoted to floor to ceiling windows with a magnificent view of the city. Candles lit the room softly, bobbing throughout the room at various levels. ****

"Wow," she breathed. "That's a beautiful view." ****

"Not as beautiful as the one in front of me," he said gruffly. He cupped her face, lifting it towards his. "Something feels different tonight," he said in a low voice. "I know you can feel it too." Rosalind nodded, inhaling as their lips met again. ****

Her body melted into his; she inhaled his scent, taking in the moment. He lifted her up by her thighs so she could wrap her legs around his torso, tugging at his hair. He kissed her hard, biting the bottom of her lip and thrusting their bodies into the wall. She moaned, excited that he was trying something new, his hands exploring her body as if he had never seen it before. ****

He sucked at the skin on her neck, slowly making his way down to her breasts and back up again, earning him another moan as he breathed in her ear, sending a vibration of shivers down her spine. He placed his hand on her back, carrying her to the bed, searching for the hooks on the back of her corset. She stopped him, sitting against the headboard, smirking at him with her legs slightly spread. With a wave of her wand the hooks became undone; her hands covered her breasts as he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. ****

Rosalind dropped her hands to her side, her breasts fully exposed, her brown nipples erecting simultaneously with his cock. “Fuck,” he groaned, spreading her legs and jolting her on his lap, nearly impaling her. He grabbed her arse while their mouths met once more, moaning into each other. He pushed her on the bed, straddling her, his hand rubbing the wet laces of her underwear. ****

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her back arching. ****

“I won’t,” he said softly, kissing her thigh. “Not until morning.” He kissed her neck, caressing her face and giving her longing, lost look. ****

“I want to see you already,” she whispered. ****

“You will soon love, don’t worry,” he grinned, cupping a handful of curls and kissing her furiously. Their bodies rocked in sync, his body molding back into its true form. She gripped him tighter, feeling around his head for a missing ear but it was intact on both sides. She opened her eyes mid-kiss, staring at a pair of stormy grey eyes and the last face she expected to see while she was half naked. ****

“Malfoy?!” ****

Draco smirked, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

**Weeell that wasn't supposed to happen! Where was George? Do you think Draco knew what was going on?**

**Next chapter: I Write Sins, Not Tragedies**


	18. I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What will little Emma do when she finds out what you did to her?"

**Chapter title taken from the Panic! At the Disco song.**

**_“What will little Emma do when she finds out what you did to her?”_ **

**Long chapter ahead!**

“Malfoy?”

Draco smirked, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?” He grabbed a bottle of wine and popped the cork, drinking it from the bottle. 

“When did you know it was me?” she demanded. “Did you know the whole time?”

“Know what? That you weren’t Astoria?” he took another swig of wine, wiping his mouth. “You were the only person that stood out to me. Honestly I thought you were her, you looked quite like her. I had a feeling when you started drinking the fire whiskey because she doesn’t like hard liquor. But I knew it was you when you kissed me.”

“Me kiss you?” she said flabbergasted. “You kissed me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said with a grin. “You can’t deny that you enjoyed it.” 

Rosalind glared at him, her cheeks burning. “That’s not the point.” 

Draco grinned, taking a step closer to her. “You knew something was different,” he said, tracing her jawline with his finger. “I know you felt that too.” He pulled her chin upwards to kiss her neck, pulling her hips before his. 

“Draco I can’t--” she breathed, ignoring the pulses ringing through her. 

“Just let me Rose,” he whispered, mouth inches from hers. “Let me taste you just once.” Their eyes met in a long moment, his grey eyes longing for her to say yes.

“I can’t,” she repeated, pushing him away. 

“Why not?” he growled, his lips parted in a snarl.

“You know why!”

“He’s not your bloody boyfriend!” he scoffed, his platinum locks skimming his eyebrow. “Apparently you’re just friends who snog.”

“Because he’s already more than I deserve!”

Her eyes widened at the words blurted from her mouth, Draco staring at her in astonishment. “What did you say?” he asked in a low voice. “You think he’s too good for you?” 

Rosalind closed her eyes, her chin darting to the floor. “It’s true,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

Draco eyed her, his head leaning to the side. “He doesn’t know you, does he?”

She shrugged, clutching her ribs with her arms as if to conceal herself. “He does. Just...not entirely. I have a feeling he doesn’t really want to know.” She sniffed, breathing in cold air. “But I know if he really knew me he’d leave.”

Draco stared at her in pity, a look she’d often give him. “What are you afraid of?”

Her dark eyes darted to the floor, her fingers digging into her skin. “For someone to see me for who I really am.” She lifted her gaze to meet his, her breath hitching. “I’m not a good person, Draco.” 

Draco’s mouth quivered, his brow twitching in surprise. “Why do you think that?”

Rosalind shook her head, her nails digging deeper into her skin. “You don’t want to know.”

“But I do,” he said softly, taking a step towards her. “Why do you think that? It’s what happened in El Salvador, isn’t it?”

She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat. “If I did what I did there here, I would be given the Dementor’s Kiss. Or executed.”

His head cocked at her words, his hair glistening in the moonlight. “What did you do that was so bad you won’t talk about it?”

Rosalind shook her head again, wiping her nose. “I can’t tell you.”

Draco closed the gap between them, holding her wrists with one hand. “Rosalind,” he said, forcing her to look at him with his free hand. “I’m saying this as your partner and your friend. You have to talk about what happened to you.”

She glared at him, her cheeks clenching as she held back tears. “Not today,” she said in a low voice. “Please.” She twisted away from his grip, her head spinning as to how the conversation got here. “Goodnight, Draco.” She Apparated before he could respond, landing in her bleak apartment, identical as to how she left it.

She jumped, spotting an owl fly out her window after dropping a piece of post. An odd time to receive a letter, she thought, as it was nearly one in the morning. She frowned, unrolling the scroll of parchment:

_Rosie,_

_I apologize I wasn't able to make it tonight, there was an accident involving a customer at the shop. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. I'll be there to pick you up at noon._

_Regards,_

_George_

Her heart panged in guilt as she set the letter to the side, Banishing her cold mug of tea to the trash and tossing her costume in the closet. She didn’t want a reminder of her night. 

She changed, curling into a ball in her bed, engulfed in pillows. Her head was throbbing, and her mind racing, recounting her evening. Stupid, she repeated to herself. She should’ve known it was Draco, how could she be so thick? She rubbed her temple, feeling the effects of the Calming Drought, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

Rosalind jolted awake the next morning, startled by the whoosh of the fireplace, a lanky body stepping through the green flames and into her bedroom, one hand with a fresh bouquet of roses, the other holding balloons singing an off key tune. 

“Happy birthday love,” George grinned, laughing at her startled state. “I couldn’t wait longer to see you so I came early.” 

She grimaced a smile, rubbing her eyes and crawling out of bed, searching under the covers for her missing socks. “Good morning,” she said, taking the roses and giving him a hug, laughing at the balloons. “Should I expect these to blow up on me?”

“No,” he laughed. “They’ll just sing to you for the next week or so.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m excited for you to see what’s in store for today.” 

“What are we doing?” she asked, rummaging through her closet for an outfit, and charming her curls to perfect frizz-free definition. 

“Hold on to this and you’ll see,” he winked, pulling out a broken watch. She clutched his arm and held her breath, bracing herself for the ride. They placed a finger on the watch, the ground jerked beneath their feet, her body feeling as if she were knocked in the back. They were spinning so fast she was thankful she hadn’t eaten yet, her mouth dry and lungs burning for oxygen. Finally after more than a full minute they thudded onto dry land. 

Loud chatters from several conversations greeted their ears, along with cheering and laughing. The scent of kettle corn, overly fried food and pretzels filled her nostrils, bringing back childhood memories. 

She opened her eyes. "We're at the fair?"

George nodded. "We're on Coney Island."

"You brought me home to the States?" She asked, horrified. "How?"

"I wanted to take you somewhere you've never been before.” His grin turned into a concerned look. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah--yeah it's fine," she replied quickly. "As long as we don't go anywhere else, I’m a wanted criminal here,” she smiled stiffly. 

He put his arm around her leading her to a nearby booth. "Lucky for you I like bad girls." She rolled her eyes sarcastically before laughing, doubting that was his type of witch. 

They wandered the entertaining Coney Island, observing the Muggles wearing various odd colored outfits, rollerblading on the boardwalk or munching on snacks. They started at the thrill rides of Luna Park, with the Thunderbolt, Electro Spin and the Tickler, then ventured their way to Astroland riding the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Astro Tower, the pirate ship, the Cyclone and Power Surge before deciding they might throw up. Rosalind screamed her head off on the roller coasters, almost ripping George's arm in half. 

"I can’t breathe!" she laughed as they got off another roller coaster, leaning over the railing to catch herself.

"I do have that effect on people," George said, trying to stand straight. His hair was a mess and his face slightly green. "I'm not too fond of Muggle contraptions though, they don't feel reliable."

"Oh c'mon you know you had fun," she said fixing his hair. 

He smiled. "Of course I am, I’m with a beautiful witch.” 

Rosalind's face flushed, her stomach fluttering. "She’s lucky to be with you.” 

He kissed her on the forehead, taking notice of the booth in front of them. "What would you like me to win for you? An elephant, a bear or a penguin?"

"Hmm." She took a look at the western themed game with three rows of plates moving side to side, and a plastic gun to shoot them down. "A penguin."

"Consider it done." He walked up to the pimply teenage boy working the stand and handed him what looked to be too much change. George muttered something about American Muggle currency being stranger than Britain's. The boy handed him the gun and George began to shoot. He missed the first few but made the next shots perfectly, curving at an odd angle. In the end he knocked all but one plate down, winning the largest stuffed penguin in existence. 

"For you madam," he said as he gave her the giant penguin. "Happy birthday." 

Rosalind smiled, trying to hold onto the massive toy. It was so big she couldn't wrap her arms around it, let alone see where she was going. "Thank you but now I can't see," she laughed in a muffled voice. 

George took it out of her hands. "Maybe I should've won you something more fun sized."

"I am not fun sized!" She elbowed him. "I wanted the penguin for a reason."

"And what is that?"

"They're cute. They also mate for life unlike most animals which I think is pretty cool," she admitted. 

He wrapped his arm around her. "Wizards mate for life too you know." He walked them over to a more abandoned area where no one could see them. He observed her for a moment, eyeing her reaction. "Are you ready for our next stop? I hope you're hungry."

Rosalind nodded. "I'm starving."

"Well hold on tight, it's going to be a long ride,” he said, producing the watch once more. 

She snapped her eyes shut with hardly enough time to hold her breath, again thankful she didn’t have more than a pretzel. A full minute later they stopped on uneven ground. She almost fell, completely surprised by the change of scenery. Cool, sea air filled her nostrils, and the peaceful crash of waves. Seagulls screeched, flying over their heads in search of food. She opened her eyes to witness the most glorious sunset she had ever seen: the sky was painted in pinks, oranges and every shade of crimson with strokes of blue and grey touching the edges, setting over the horizon. 

"Wow," she breathed. "This is gorgeous."

George smiled, holding her tightly. "I told you I wanted to make today special." She looked up into his handsome face, kissing him lightly, heart panging in guilt.

He let go and started muttering incantations and a fire appeared before them along with a small grill. He threw a backpack to the side and a small tent grew out of it, complete with a chimney. George took a seat in the sand, grabbing a stick and setting a marshmallow on top of it, letting the fire roast it into mush. 

"So I read about these American confections the other day called s'mores," he said as Rosalind sat next to him. "I believe they consist of marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate is that correct?"

"Yes," she laughed. "You've never had a s'more before?"

"Never ever.”

"Let me show you how it's done then." She grabbed a slab of melting chocolate. "You let the marshmallow get toasty on the outside and then you move it like this," she slid his marshmallow onto the chocolate and graham cracker, adding more on top. "And then you eat it. See?"

George looked at it curiously then took a bite. "Blimey, it's better than I thought it would be." He offered her a bite and smeared a piece of chocolate on her nose. "You got a little something there, sweetheart."

"Can you get it off for me?" she asked in an innocent voice. 

George grinned, kissing her nose and then her lips. He tasted sweet, and comforting. He moved his body on top of hers, her back grazing the sand. 

"Oh I think you might have some there too..." He kissed her neck. "And there." He kissed her collarbone. "And some right there." He moved his way down to her chest. 

Rosalind giggled, looking into his gentle face. "You're adorable."

"And you're so beautiful," he whispered. He cupped her face, looking into her eyes adoringly. A moment passed between them, a tender moment where no words needed to be said. He sat up holding her in his arms. "We'll start dinner once the sun goes down," he said. 

"Oh yeah? What's on the menu besides you?"

He shrugged. "Can't tell you."

Rosalind frowned before laying in his arms. Laying with George made the world seem so at peace. The sun set down slowly, radiating from their happiness. She sighed. The view was beautiful, the day was beautiful. And she didn’t deserve it. 

George kissed the side of her and stood up to conjure more food: roasted ham, potatoes, green beans, pie and wine. He popped the cork and handed her a glass. 

"This is quite the dinner," she said in awe. "You really don't have to do all this just for me."

It was his turn to frown at her. "How many times do I have to tell you that I want to?"

She shrugged, looking down at the sand. "At least one more time."

George gazed down at her, watching her take small bites of her food. He took her hand squeezing it gently. "You'll know soon enough that not everyone is going to hurt you. I do love spending time with you."

She smiled timidly, her gut churning. "I love spending time with you too."

He smiled at her reassuringly. "Just let everything happen naturally."

"Alright," she decided. "I will." 

"You should look up to the east in about five seconds," he said casually between bites. "There might be something you won't want to miss."

Rosalind dropped her fork, taking a look at the lighthouse on the eastern side. A thin figure was making its way across the sky, slithering its way through the stars. It had various shades of green, blue, yellow, purple, fading into every color of the rainbow. As it approached them it looked to be the head of a dragon; it opened its mouth at the sight of them, spurting faux flames into their midst, raining drops of fire. 

“Fireworks?” she cried astonished. “Are these from your joke shop?”

George nodded. “Indeed they are.” 

She stood up to enjoy the light show: several more animals danced their way in from bears, wolves, lions, tigers, unicorns, along with smaller animals like rabbits and monkeys. They ran across the sand, shooting it into different directions before disappearing into thin air; once they were gone a display of blossoming flowers lit the sky, fire sprinkling into the ocean. 

Rosalind laughed, dancing in the firelight. What looked like lightning bugs swirled around them, but were actually smaller fireworks. 

“Did you do all of this?” she asked as she grabbed his arms, pulling him into a dance. “Is this all from your shop?”

“Most of it is, a lot of it is also new product. I needed to test it out and figured this would be the perfect occasion.” He spun her out, twirling her back into his arms. “It’s not bad so far.”

“Not bad? It’s brilliant!” she laughed again at the booming in the background. “I can’t believe you do this all by yourself, this is so impressive.” 

George smiled, leading her into a slow dance as the lighting bug fireworks hovered by their heads, giving a romantic glow. “I’m not bad at magic when I try,” he said, pulling her closer. 

“Are you kidding? You’re great at it. This is--this is the most fun I’ve had probably since I’ve moved here.” She moved a ginger strand from his face. “Thank you so much. I really don't deserve you.” 

George rocked them back and forth, the fireworks beginning to fade. “Of course you are my love, you’re worth every second.” He leaned down, making Rosalind inch up on her tiptoes, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. He gazed down at her, taking a breath. “Would it be too forward to ask you if you’d like to stay the night here in the tent under the stars?”

Rosalind’s heart fluttered, his heart beating against her ear. “I would love that.” 

George grinned, throwing her over his shoulders. “In that case let’s get started.” She kicked her legs, playfully hitting his back as he took them inside the tent. 

What appeared to be a meager tent on the outside was in actuality a quaint cottage built for two. A fireplace crackled in the corner and a bed waited for them with an extra set of clothes. 

“Are these yours?” she asked, picking up the maroon sweater and periwinkle blue button down. “They’re way too big to be for me.”

George’s ear reddened slightly. “Well I was hoping I could find something your size but even Ginny is much bigger than you are.” 

Rosalind kissed him on the cheek. “I like this one.” She tossed him the sweater and stepped over to the other side of the tent where she was somewhat hidden by a table to change. She glanced over at George who was already in sweats, just pulling over a sweatshirt. She took off her boots and undergarments, carefully sliding into his shirt. Cinnamon and sugar--it smelled just like him. She made her way back over to him as she finished buttoning the shirt, his eyes widening. She jumped on the bed on top of him, smothering him in a hug. 

“You look damn good in my shirt,” he observed as she started to kiss him. “You should wear that and nothing else more often.” 

“If we get to spend nights like these together I might,” she teased, rolling by his side. 

He grinned, crushing her in a hug. “There’s not a moment when you don’t look absolutely gorgeous.” 

She blushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever blushed so much around someone before.” 

“I love it so keep it coming,” he winked, causing her stomach to pulse.

Rosalind laughed, nudging her head in the crevice of his arm. Above their heads was a skylight, where they looked ahead at the clear midnight blue ocean. 

After several moments he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about not being able to make it last night. It was a busy night and a toddler knocked over some sets of fireworks and they went off causing a ruckus and injuring another customer and an employee. I was going to send you a Patronous but ended up leaving you a note instead,” he finished somberly. 

“Why didn’t you?” she asked hesitantly.

George’s face quivered. “Patronouses can be used to send messages and I haven’t attempted one since the Battle of Hogwarts, the night that Fred died. But I couldn't do it...I couldn’t think of a happy memory. I couldn’t even form a noncorporal Patronous. I-I didn’t think that would happen.” 

Rosalind looked into his sorrowful eyes. She reached out her hand to try to comfort him, but he stiffened. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But it’s healthy to let out those emotions--”

“I said no alright?” he yelled, sitting up. “It’s in the past. I can’t do anything to change it.” He looked angry that she even suggested the idea.

“Okay sorry for asking,” she said in a small voice turning her back to him. “I won’t ask again.” 

They were quiet for several moments. She could hear George muttering to himself before finally leaning his body over hers. “I’m sorry Rosie, that’s such a touchy subject for me.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can you forgive me?”

She looked back at him, seeing how regretful and uncomfortable he looked. “I guess I can forgive you this time,” she said half-jokingly. “But I would appreciate it if you could open up to me sometime.” 

“I’m working on it,” he said exasperated. “It’s just--I’ve never opened up to anyone before. I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of emotion,” he said seriously. “Of opening old wounds.” He ran his fingers through his hair, mind racing. “But I’ll try my best.” He gave her a small smile and wrapped her in a hug. “You make it easier. You’re worth it.”

Rosalind smiled back at him sheepishly, unable to meet his gaze. “George I--” 

“Yes?” he looked at her excitedly.

She paused, heart pounding. She should tell him. He deserved to know what happened with Draco. But this wasn’t the right moment. She didn’t want to ruin a perfect day. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done today. I don’t know how to thank you.”

He grinned. “By spending time with me and telling me how undeniably handsome you think I am.”

“Easy,” she laughed. He leaned down to give her a gentle kiss, followed by deeper, more intense kisses. She held onto his torso, wrapping her legs around him and kissing his neck as he did the same to her. She groaned as the kisses deepened, becoming more passionate. 

George steamrolled her, tickling her and landing on top of her again, gazing into her eyes. “You are quite the sight when you’re in my bed,” he grinned in that attractive, droning voice of his. 

“I’ll make sure not to leave then,” she breathed. He kissed her once more, wrapping her in his arms as they fell asleep. 

Rosalind could feel his broad smile even with her eyes closed. “Goodnight love.” He kissed the back of her head and they dozed off, the stars twinkling above them, watching them through the night. 

***

Waves crashed gently onto the sea-worn rocks as the sun gazed over the bodies in the tent, casting warm rays to awaken them. Rosalind stretched her limbs, groaning about how bright it was. A groggy George had tea and biscuits ready on the counter, bringing a steaming cup to Rosalind as she sat up in the bed. 

“Good morning gorgeous,” he grinned as he handed her the tea tray. “Sleep well I hope?”

Rosalind smiled, tucking a frizzy curl behind her ear. “I did thank you, how about yourself?”

“Just peachy,” he winked as he took a sip. He waved his wand as the mouth of the tent opened, the whispers of the ocean bursting into the room, breathing in cool air. 

“What are your plans for today, love?” 

She shrugged. “I think I’m going to make a stop by Hogwarts and surprise my sister. I haven’t seen her in a while.” She glanced at her watch, reaching over to her clothes to change. “I should probably head over there soon, I want to catch her on a good time.” 

George smiled kindly, gazing into her dark eyes. “I won’t be offended if you leave. I know you miss her.” 

“Thank you George, really. For everything. You are way too nice to me.” He embraced her into a tight hug, planting a loving kiss onto the top of her head. 

“I care about you that’s why.” A glimmer of affection flickered over his eyes. “Don’t have too much fun, love.”

“I’ll try not to,” she smiled. She sucked her breath and closed her eyes, leaving with a faint popping sound, bringing the sinking feeling of dread with her. 

Hogsmeade village was already twinkling with holiday spirit: copper colored leaves crunched at the bottom of Rosalind’s feet as she paced the street, and several pumpkins and wreaths decorated the tiny shops. She greeted the old wizard by the train station before making the trek up to Hogwarts Castle. She inhaled the crisp air, sighing once she reached the tall oak doors. After a brief conversation with Argus Filch she made her way through the foreign building, navigating the ancient corridors. Students were spilling out of the Great Hall, indicating the end of lunch. Rosalind leaned her back against the wall towards the east side of the door hoping to catch Emma. 

A flood of tiny first and second years were at the head of the pack, splitting into four groups into their respective houses. Mutterings grew louder as some students shoved around some of the smaller bodies, chanting a phrase Rosalind had never heard before. A circle gathered around two young girls, the dog-faced one shot a yellow spell at the other, causing her bag to rip and break the contents on the floor. The group laughed, pointing at the girl on her knees struggling to pick up her belongings, not fighting back. 

“Hey! That wasn’t very nice!” the second girl sputtered. 

“Fight back!” the bigger girl sneered. “Or are you too scared?” she waved her wand with a cackle, levitating the girl’s glasses off her face. 

“I can’t see without those!” the second girl whimpered as she jumped up and down as her glasses hung higher above her head. “I need them!” Her books split open on the floor causing the group to laugh harder. “Please!”

Rosalind’s heart dropped when she saw the familiar face: Emma’s lips were quivering as she tried hard not to cry while her fellow classmates mocked her. A fit of rage bubbled through her as she waved her hand, causing the young girl’s wand to fly across the end of the hall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she growled louder than she anticipated, using every ounce of strength she had not to grip the girl’s throat. “You want to duel someone? Why won’t you fight fair?” She stood at her full height in front of the girl who was only two inches shorter than her. 

The young girl’s eyes widened as soon as she realized she was wandless. “What’s it to you?” she asked with false confidence. “You can’t do anything to me, I'm a kid.” 

“You think that’s going to--”

“Miss Morana, I suggest you step away from Miss Parkinson before another word is said,” a stern, authoritative voice commanded. Rosalind’s breathing tensed but she dropped her shoulders to face Professor McGonagall. 

“I apologize Professor.” She grit her teeth into a false smile as the headmistress cocked her eyebrow. 

“I expect to see the three of you in my office immediately.” She stared straight at Rosalind as young Parkinson grinned, trotting after the professor.

“The three of—?“

Rosalind glanced over at Emma who was on the cold stone floor picking up her belongings. Her glasses were cracked in the corner creating a spider web effect, illuminating her embarrassment as she averted her sister’s eyes. Deciding to deal with her later, she shifted her attention to the girl besides them. 

“You’re Pansy Parkinson’s sister?” she questioned the dog-faced girl. 

She squinted her pug nose in the air, twiddling her wand. “That I am. How are you two acquainted?”

“We happen to be friends, actually. She’s never mentioned you.”

Parkinson’s arrogance faded. “She doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Was she a bully too or did you learn that on your own?”

The girl’s face twinged but she held her composure as she climbed the spiral staircase into the headmistress’ office, ignoring Rosalind. She let the girls talk to McGonagall first before she spoke to her and Emma by herself. As she waited in a separate area of the office, she glanced around the oval area. Several ancient artifacts sat undisturbed in glass cases as others whirled around the room. Rosalind heard a shuffling and a cough that caught her off guard--she was the only body in the room. Specks of dust fell on her nose and she glanced up to see an ancient hat shaking what would be its head, opening a beady pair of eyes. 

“You’re Morana’s sister aren’t you?” the hat asked inquiringly. 

Rosalind stared at the hat in disbelief. “How’d you know that?”

The hat chuckled. “I am the Sorting Hat dearie, I hear everything.”

Rosalind eyed the hat curiously. She had heard of it but had no idea where it was kept. “How is she doing?” she finally asked. 

The brim of the hat curled in the edges, as if shrugging. “She is adjusting as best she can. It is hard to adjust when one cannot remember segments of their lives.” 

Her stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

The hat grinned. “I remember the memories and thoughts of every student that has stepped through this castle, even what they believe is not real. You did quite the number on her.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said flatly. 

“No?” the hat chuckled again. “Why don’t you go ahead and give me a go? I could give you insight as to what House you would have been Sorted into.” 

“Why?”

“You’ve never been curious?” The hat stared at her blankly, almost grinning. She grabbed it and placed it on her head quickly, suddenly filled with a lightheaded, odd sensation of the hat sensing all of her emotions and memories. It felt dirty, like a loss of control. 

“Aaahhh, interesting,” the hat whispered. “Many traits that I sensed earlier...very ambitious, there’s no doubt about that but very clever as well.” He inhaled, as if breathing in her essence. “Slytherin would be an easy choice for you.” 

_I’m not a Dark Wizard,_ she thought. _That’s not where I belong._

The hat laughed once more. “Not all Slytherins are Dark Wizards. Not that you have a clean past any how. What will little Emma do when she finds out what you did to her?”

Rosalind threw the hat back onto its shelf in anger. “She won’t find out anything.” 

The hat smiled. “The guilt is killing you.” 

Pansy’s younger sister emerged from the other end of the room with her chin on her chest. She took a small glance at Rosalind before departing for the spiral staircase. McGonnagall’s pursed lips pointed in her direction and she sat down in the chair next to Emma. 

“While I encourage family bonds I do not encourage bullying and rough housing,” she began with a raised brow. “I understand the compassion you have for your sister Miss Rosalind but I cannot have you visiting Hogwarts if you will be harassing my students.” 

“But Professor I couldn’t let someone talk to her like that--”

“These are my students, Rosalind, not yours.” The Headmistress’s face was stern, her eyes hawk-like on the older sister. 

Rosalind clenched her fist, then sulked into the chair. “Understood, Professor. I’m sorry.” 

“Hmph,” McGonnagall continued. “Now, I cannot punish you but I can ask you to leave. I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.” The Headmistress motioned for the door and both Rosalind and Emma walked out. 

Emma pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, books in hand. She averted her eyes from her older sister, clutching her books into her chest.

“How long has this been happening?” Rosalind demanded.

“Not too long,” Emma said sheepishly, still avoiding her gaze.

“How long, Emma?”

She shuffled her feet. “I don’t know. Not too much later than after we got here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” she asked, her voice cracking. 

“Because.” She squinted, causing her glasses to fall. “You can’t do anything about it. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“What?” Rosalind exclaimed, pained. “Of course I care Emma, you’re my sister!”

Emma wiped away a faint stream of tears from her face, taking a seat on a stone bench. “Nothing.” She hiccuped, taking her glasses off to wipe away her tears. “Th-they make fun of me a lot. They don’t get it.” 

Rosalind sat down next to her sister slowly. “Get what?”

“How-how they died...” she sniffled. “How did they die in a house fire if there were wizards? It doesn’t make sense.” 

Rosalind’s stomach dropped. “How doesn’t that make sense? Wizards have died that way, especially if Fiendfyre is involved--”

“But was there? We don’t know anything we just left!” Emma slammed her fists on the concrete. “We didn’t have a funeral for them, we didn’t say goodbye, we didn’t do anything! We just left!” Her small chest heaved quiet sobs. “Why, sissy?” 

The elder sister clenched her jaw, gripping her fingers against her robes. “Because,” she said carefully. “There was nothing there for us. We couldn’t have done anything...we had no home. It wasn’t safe there anymore.” 

“So why did we move here?” Emma cried, eyes reddening. “Of all places why London, because you always wanted to go to Hogwarts?”

“It wasn’t safe for us to be there anymore, and I wanted to move someplace that would be good for you,” Rosalind answered softly. 

Emma looked up at her older sister’s eyes. “I feel like you're not telling me something.” 

Rosalind’s heart thumped. “Why? Where did this come from?”

“I’m tired of being sad all the time,” she said in a small voice. “I thought...I thought it would be easier by now.” 

“Oh Emma,” Rosalind sighed, pulling her into a hug. “It will get easier, I promise. Eventually it’ll just be a distant memory.” She gave her a tight squeeze as Emma sobbed into her shoulder. 

“I just w-wish it would end.” Her voice was faint, eyes bloodshot. 

“It will, don’t worry.” Rosalind felt around for her wand in her robe, slipping it out quickly. Emma shifted her body away, adjusting her glasses again. Rosalind raised her wand hesitantly next to her sister’s temple. 

Emma stopped in her tracks in disbelief. “No sissy, stop,” she pleaded. “Please don’t do this--don’t h-hurt me!” Her tiny body quivered. “Please don’t do this!” 

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Rosalind cried, choking back tears. “I would never hurt you!”

Emma pressed her hands against her ears, gripping her eyes shut. “LIAR!” 

Rosalind pressed her wand against little Emma’s face, hands shaking, the voice of the Sorting Hat ringing loudly in her ears: _What will little Emma do when she finds out what you did to her?_

**So you have now officially met Emma! Their relationship unfortunately is a bit strained--but Rosalind knows that sending her to Hogwarts was the best thing she could’ve done for her. And although she didn’t know she was kissing Draco, she definitely should tell George. Thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: Runaway.**


	19. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You fucked up, Rosalind."

**Chapter title taken from the Kanye West song.**

**_“You fucked up, Rosalind.”_ **

**This is another flashback chapter, taking place immediately after the last one.**

My world was muted: a fire wailed in the corner, licking away the bodies as if in slow motion; I knew my heart was beating through my chest but I couldn’t feel it--not even with my mouth gaped, dried from the flames but managing to burst out a disgusting, blubbering sob. On the other side of the room I saw Emma, wide-eyed in horror, screaming her little lungs out. The crimson flames drifted throughout the floor, moving ghost-like from the bodies towards us. I extinguished the majority of it, leaving a small contained flame in the corner. 

The sniffling in the corner snapped me out of my grief, forcing me to stand. Emma had her head on her knees, shaking uncontrollably. I reached out my trembling hand to her, covered in blood.

“Sissy,” I said in a small voice. “We have to leave--we can’t stay here.” I stepped closer in order to pick her up but she recoiled and shoved me.

“Go away!” she screamed, tears burning down her cheeks. “Leave me here!”

“What?” I asked in shock. “No--we have to leave, you’ll die here!”

She whimpered, staring at the remains of our parents in the other room. “I want to be with them.” 

“But you can’t sissy they’re--they’re not getting up,” I finished meekly. “We have to get out of here.” I grabbed her hand but she pushed me away again, backing herself into the corner by the toilet.

“No! You did this!” her voice rattled as she glared at me. “You killed them!” 

My heart sunk out of my chest at her words. “Why would you say that?” I stammered. 

“You left us! They didn’t want you to leave! But-but you left anyway!” 

“I didn’t do this,” I tried to explain through my sobbing. “I love you! I love all of you!”

Emma shook her head violently, shutting her eyes and covering her ears. “LIAR! You don't love us!” she stood up, pointing her small fingers in my direction. “I don’t want to go with you.” 

“Emmy please,” I begged, unable to control the flow of tears. “I can’t leave you here, I didn’t do this--”

“I hate you.” The words cut me like a knife, deeper than any spell could have. She looked me dead in the eyes. “I hate you for ruining our family.” She stood, glaring at me, shoving past me to run towards our parents’ bodies. 

_ “Obliviate!” _

The spell hit her square in the back: her eyes rolled into darkness, and her frail body slammed into the ground.

***

“Ernesto!” I stuttered into the phone in the phone booth, unable to control my sobs. I had ran to our secret phone booth, contacting him via my identification card--we had magicked them to change only through our will, and to alert the others of any emergencies, triggering an alarm only they could hear in order to make a phone call, similar to a Muggle beeper. 

_ “Que paso?” _

“They c-came after me!” I cried, Emma’s body slumped on my shoulder. “They knew who I was from when I was down there--they came for revenge--they were looking for me b-but they k-killed my parents instead!”

“What?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I am so sorry Rosalind--I can’t imagine--” The audio scratched as I heard him searching for paper. “You need to leave. Take your sister but destroy your wand before you do.”

“What? Why?”

“There have been rumors that Americans are tracked by their wands so the government can keep tabs on everyone and imprison them. Guess who they got the idea from.”

“That’s how they found me.”

“I think so...they’ve come after a few of us. Jorge and I are running to Australia. We were going to leave next week but we’ll have to push it up now.”

“Where can we go? Emma is so small I don’t--”

“Mexico. I know a wand maker there who is reliable. He can get you into another town with an airport. We’ll fly you to London.” 

“London?” I asked quietly. “I don’t know anyone there. I can’t be without a wand I might as well be a Muggle--”

“I know. But we can't all go to the same place.”

I sighed out another stream of tears. He was right. Hogwarts was a boarding school anyways, once Emma was old enough she would be away for most of the year. Away from me. 

“Tell me what I need to do,” I pleaded.

“Burn the house down. Only take what you need.” The audio screeched in my ears as he jotted something down. “Is Emma okay?”

I hesitated, gripping onto her legs to support her. “She saw me. She saw me kill them.”

_ “Que?” _ Ernesto blurted in shock. “How? What did you do?”

“I-I wiped her memory,” I admitted shamefully, swallowing a knot of tears as he cursed through the phone. “I didn’t know what else to do!”

“You fucked up, Rosalind,” he said in a dark tone. “She will never be the same again.” 

***

With Ernesto’s help we left the only country we knew and walked into Mexico. I watched the flames eat away at our home, Emma and I disguised by Disillusionment Charms. I tossed my wand by the dead Muggle, feeling as if my arm was burning with it. 

I instructed Emma not to speak to anyone and we kept to ourselves, fearing our American English and Salvadoran Spanish would out us. Ernesto sent several Patronouses our way to direct us, leading us to the Mexican wand maker. It was terrifying wandering without magic, so exposed to danger. I felt like a Muggle. 

“Sissy?” Emma had asked as we stepped inside a small plane at the airport. “Where are we going?”

I buckled her seatbelt and lowered myself to her height. “You know that I love you right?” She nodded. “And you know that I would do anything to keep you safe right?” She nodded again, two fingers in her mouth. “We’re going to our new home. We’ll be safe there.” She smiled shyly as she always did when she was unsure what to say, gripping my hand tightly. 

A hilly horizon peaked through the rain clouds, a calming drizzle pattering on the rooftop. The plane began its descent, illuminating the cobble stoned streets. Emma buried her face into my side as we departed, navigating customs with our magicked and expedited Muggle documents. 

“Miss Rosalind and Emma Morana,” the customs agent eyed us as he scanned our documentation. American and Latin American wizards frequently flew via plane or Portkey. Rumor had it that Europeans were a bit more antiquated. 

“I see your reason for seeking asylum is gang violence,” he continued, stamping our papers. I wasn’t aware that gang violence was pervasive in the States.” 

“It’s not yet,” I began to explain. “But it is the reason our parents were murdered. Everything you need should be in that packet.”

The thin man glanced up from his square glasses with a glimmer of pity. “I apologize. My condolences.” He shoved the packet towards me, explaining programs we may or may not be eligible for. “Hopefully in a few years you both may naturalize.” He gave her a warm, sincere smile. “I wish you both luck.” 

I nodded, head bowed in a feeble attempt at a smile. “Thank you.” With Emma in hand, we walked with our small bags into the crowded airport, maneuvering our way out to Muggle London: a vastly different city than either of us had experienced. According to Ernesto’s directions a Charing Cross Road was close by--a road with a pub leading to Wizarding London, where he had tipped an ally of our arrival. 

We stepped into the dingy pub, creaking floorboards beneath our feet as I approached the counter where a balding old man stood cleaning glassware with a dirty rag.

“Hello,” I said upon clearing my throat. “A tequila on the rocks please.” 

“Ah,” the bar man grinned. “I was wondering when you two would arrive.” He filled the glass to the brim with the frothy liquid. “Have a pint, I’ve heard you’ve got quite the interesting story.” He extended a kind, wrinkling hand. “The name’s Tom. Welcome to London.” 

**Thanks to Ernesto, Rosalind and Emma were able to flee, but life isn’t any easier yet. As always, thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: I Never Told You What I Do For a Living.**


	20. I Never Told You What I Do For a Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I enjoyed it."

**Chapter Twenty:** **I Never Told You What I Do For a Living**

**Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.**

**_“I enjoyed it.”_ **

"How was your weekend, Rosalind?" a yawning Hermione asked Monday morning. "We missed you at the party, I was hoping to catch up with you." 

The witches were sipping their tea, breezing into the lift on their way to their departments. "It was good, George took me out for my birthday. He definitely outdid himself," Rosalind replied, hiding her blush with her cup. 

"You didn't tell us it was your birthday!" the bushy haired girl exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something?" 

"I thought you were upset with me to be honest," she admitted. The golden grilles opened, and the cool female voice reminded them they were at the correct floor. "After Madam Malkin's the other day with Daphne and Pansy. I’m sorry for what she said--I had no idea you guys don't like each other." 

Hermione swigged some tea, giving the American a reassuring look. "Don't be sorry," she said gently. "We shouldn't have acted that way, Ginny and I--we keep forgetting that you're new here and everyone else has known each other their whole lives. I personally don't know Daphne very well but Pansy was a snotty bully while we were at Hogwarts but that was ages ago. I’ve heard she’s matured a bit since then. They come from a background of Pureblood elitists and Death Eaters so we were shocked and concerned for you. We don't want you to get hurt,” she finished sincerely. 

"That's what Ron told me, he thinks they would turn on me if something happened. They honestly feel like my friends though, they've been very welcoming and I'm finally starting to adjust to living here. I just--" she sighed, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know. It makes me feel like I’m a bad friend to you.” 

Hermione smiled, giving her a warm hug. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. You can be friends with whomever you'd like, we're not going to judge you. Unless you become a Death Eater," she joked. 

"Thank you Hermione," she said relieved. "That means a lot to me." 

"Don't mention it." She smiled brightly and left for the Auror's office catching up to Harry and Ron who waved at her. 

Rosalind sighed, happy that Ginny and Hermione weren't upset with her. She searched the room for her desk, hidden by a gift wrapped basket. She frowned, untying the ribbon to reveal treacle tarts, pumpkin pasties and other desserts filling her nostrils, along with the bitter smell of cuts of meat and cheese, with a bottle of old French wine. She opened the tray of pasties, a sheaf of parchment fluttering onto the oak desk:

_ Happy belated birthday, Rosalind. Thank you for comforting Draco after the party. You are a great friend and wonderful addition to his life. _

_ Narcissa _

Rosalind’s eyes widened in shock at Narcissa’s gesture, when a curious Ron and Harry poked their noses through the door in search of food. "Who's got pumpkin pasties?" Ron asked. 

"You want some?" she asked, throwing one in their direction. 

"Thanks!" They chewed through the dessert quickly, hardly inhaling."Where'd chu get these?" Ron asked mid swallow. "They're amazing."

"Narcissa gave them to me for my birthday," she replied slightly under her breath. "They're good, huh?"

Harry swallowed his confusion while Ron nearly dropped his remaining pasty on the floor. "How'd you get acquainted with the Malfoys?" 

"I went to a party the other day at their house. Met a lot of people there." Her voice was slow, noting Ron's tone.

"You got invited to the Pureblood Elite Party?" his voice was harsh. 

"I thought it was a welcome home party for Lucius." Her brows furrowed upon seeing Ron's pained expression. "Did I do something wrong?" 

"No," he said grudgingly as Harry was finishing his last bit of pasty to diffuse the situation. "Is just that only Pureblood elitists get invited to that. My whole family's never gone." 

"What Ron means is that that was normally used as a Death Eater recruiting party," Harry cut in before Ron could speak up. "We know you're friends with some of the people there, we’re just warning you that they’re not exactly known for being loyal. Even with the Death Eaters on the run they could still try to pull you into something dangerous.”

Rosalind nodded, swallowing the information, disliking the disapproving looks Harry and Ron were giving her. “Right,” she responded slowly, feeling judged. “Hermione mentioned the same thing. They’ve been very welcome but it’s probably due to my blood status more than anything else.” 

“Probably, but hopefully not." Harry twiddled his thumbs for a second, clearing his thoughts. "Just be careful, alright? You're still new so there will be plenty of people who will want to take advantage of that." 

"Thanks Harry," Rosalind said with a small smile. "I really appreciate it." 

Harry nudged Ron, who was still staring at the floor. "Right. What he said. Sorry for being a prat but...a lot of them are dodgy. Just watch out." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thanks for the pasty." He gave her a small simper before leaving for the Auror's Office with Harry.

Rosalind sighed, unsure of what was bothering her more--that all her friends seemed to have a past of disliking each other, or that she felt stuck in the middle of an unspoken rivalry.  _ They’re just looking out for me _ , she thought, which didn’t explain away her guilt. 

She slid into her desk next to Draco, who was reading the  _ Prophet _ . "Are you done getting interrogated by Potter and Weaselbee?" 

"That obvious?" she sat, chewing on a pumpkin pasty. “That was really nice of your mom to send me a gift basket.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed into the newspaper, his lips thinning. “She was going to be more generous but I talked her out of it.”

“She knows we’re friends so I can’t imagine what her generosity is like when you have a girlfriend.” His mouth twitched, the apology in his eyes interrupted by a somber Bowen, walking into the room with his bowler hat resting in his hands. 

"I have grave news to share with you all this morning." His voice waved the room into silence. “Over the weekend, one of our own was taken. She was able to ward off her attackers and is currently in St. Mungo’s. She’s in much better condition than she was yesterday but she cannot be discharged yet.” Bowen set his bowler hat down, resting on a desk. “Breckenridge was traveling alone and caught off guard. I know that you all are highly trained officers but I feel the need to remind you that we cannot be too careful. Never travel alone and always notify someone of where you are and where you will be going." He paused, as Lucille and others gasped. "Breckenridge is recovering but she is not at her strongest yet. I will keep you all updated as soon as I am aware of her condition." He heaved a deep sigh, approaching Rosalind’s desk cautiously. "She asked to see you," he said in a low voice. "She'd like to see you as soon as possible."

"What?" Rosalind asked flabbergasted. "Why?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted sounding concerned. "Take Malfoy with you." 

"Alright," she said with a confused expression on her face. She nodded at Draco, who followed suit.

"What do you reckon she wants?" he asked. They were striding through the halls of St. Mungo's in search of the correct room.

"No idea. We don't talk either so I don't know what to expect." She turned to a young witch asking for directions, who led them into a small, blinding-white room. Breckenridge was laying on the bed, almost too tall for it; her long thick legs were covered in bruises and there were spots of dry blood on her face. A glowing strand of what looked like an IV was hooked into her arm, providing nutrients for her. She was pale, no longer looking intimidating. She looked weak. 

"Hello?" Rosalind said in a low voice. "Bowen said you wanted to see me." 

The gargantuan woman patted the edge of the mattress, raising her into a sitting position. "Yeah. I did,” she answered gruffly, her eyes closing from the sudden movement. 

"What did you want to see me about?" she asked, eyeing her fingermark bruises on her arms. 

Breckenridge stared at Draco, her eyes darting back to Rosalind. "You sure you want him here?"

"Yes. Whatever you have to say he can hear it too," she replied as Draco crossed his arms in annoyance. 

"Alright." She sighed, wincing at the pain in her broken ribs. "A while ago I heard you talking about the girl who was attacked and how you thought there was a reason why she was alive, and that someone was trying to send a message. There haven't been werewolf sightings since the war ended but with what happened at Azkaban and that girl and over the weekend I think your theory makes sense...there's someone out there that's trying to get their point across."

Rosalind and Draco exchanged knowing looks before staring back at Breckenridge. "What happened?" 

She grimaced, clutching her side, her eyelids heavy from the potions. "After I left the Halloween party I was heading back to my flat alone as always but I felt like I was being followed. Before I had time to react I was ambushed and taken somewhere. I was in and out of consciousness and had no idea where I was. What I thought were dogs were actually people behaving like animals, it was the strangest thing because it wasn't even a full moon. They kept pestering me, asking me questions and trying to hex me with my wand but it wasn't working for them...it was bizarre..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to make sense of her memories. "I think some of them might have been Muggles, or Squibs. But not all of them were because I was definitely hit with some nasty Cruciatus Curses." Her eyes were hollow, pained. "There are certain things I can't remember though, I think they were getting frustrated with me because I wouldn't do whatever it was they wanted me to do. They weren't speaking English half the time so I had no idea what the hell they were saying." She looked into Rosalind's eyes, looking bewildered. "They were speaking Spanish and they were covered in numbered tattoos." 

Rosalind's stomach dropped, her face paling. "I think I know who you're talking about.” 

Draco and Breckenridge stared at her as she struggled to find the right words. "Well?" 

She wrung her hands nervously, beads of sweat already running down her neck. "What did they look like? Were they short, tall? Dark skinned or light? Tattoos or piercings or anything?"

"Most of them were shorter and a little dark, maybe your skin color," Breckenridge answered slowly. "I can't remember much but they were all tattooed. My memory feels really foggy." 

"Does it feel manipulated? Your memory?" 

"I s'ppose it does, not terribly but I remember enough that I didn't tell them anything about myself."

"Does anything strangely specific hurt? Like your head or your chest or your back?" 

"Yeah, my back does." She removed the top part of her robes and turned her torso, revealing a small, faint scratch. "Not sure how I got this." 

Rosalind leaned closer, observing the frail mark. "Was this when you were running away? How'd you escape?"

"I waited. There were others there they were trying to talk to but they were behaving oddly and I was bigger than most of them so I just ran for it." Her voice faded into a scared whisper. "If it was the full moon I don't think I would've made it out. I think they had werewolves there." 

"What did you tell them?" Rosalind asked nervously. 

"Nothing," she replied. "They weren’t necessarily asking anything, they were demanding something of me but I don’t know what," she said rather calmly. "What do you know about them?"

Rosalind pursed her lips. "If they're who I think they are they're gang members. I went to El Salvador a few years ago to fight against them and we'd hear talks about how they were going to make their way up to the States and then Europe but it didn't seem like it could happen..." She gripped the skin on her arm, pacing the room. "Our civil war started because wizards began allying with these Muggle gang members to overthrow the government and it worked--I was part of a resistance team but I left because I didn’t think I needed to be there anymore. They use their power to intimate both Muggles and wizards because the Muggle  _ mareros  _ are ruthless. They aren't afraid of anything. I've seen them set fire on a bus full of women and children simply because they felt like it. They don't kill just for strategy they kill for fun as well." 

It was Draco and Breckenridge's turn to stare at her in confusion. "So what are they doing here?"

"They track people--everyone, with their wands. I'm not sure how they tracked the Muggles, but by the time I got home every wizard in the States had their whereabouts known. They know our names, addresses, dates of birth and every spell we have ever used. That's how people get caught and sent to jail. That’s how they keep people incarcerated. By the time I left they had already crossed the borders and infiltrated our government. These Muggles wanted more power. Somehow they've convinced some wizards down there that they should be treated equally or better and I think that's similar to what they're trying to do here except they're targeting werewolves."

"But why would they do that? Shouldn't they go after Pureblood supremacists or Death Eaters?" Draco inquired.

"I think they tried," Rosalind said slowly, recalling Adriana, Azkaban and the disappearances. "Remember when your father was the only person that wasn't able to escape Azkaban? We thought he refused to say anything because he was protecting his old friends, but I think there's a reason that Death Eaters didn't survive as much as other prisoners did. They tried going after who they believed had the most power but the Death Eaters rejected them."

"That's why my father stayed behind," Draco said. "Death Eaters don't like werewolves or Muggles, but they would've done anything to save their necks." 

"Exactly." Rosalind nodded. "They overestimated their plan. So they're--I don't know, I'm guessing revolting? They're angry."

"So why haven't they killed anyone?" Breckenridge asked. "If they're as dangerous as you say they are wouldn't they have gone on a rampage?"

"They're waiting. They have to compensate for the numbers they don't have. I’m guessing they were trying to recruit you for your size."

"Well I don’t blame them,” she attempted a smile. “It all seemed so half hazard and unplanned.” 

“The smaller cliques don’t really know what they’re doing. They might have been younger and newer recruits who haven’t earned their positions yet.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, wiping the sweat off her hands. "You got hit with a Memory Charm by the way, but it's not a good one. You should get your memories back soon." She looked over at Draco, who knew it was time to leave. "I hope you recover quickly."

Breckenridge waved a bruised hand. "Thanks. Take care of yourself." 

She smiled stiffly, opening the door as her hands shook and stepped out into the hall. Her heart was beating rapidly, more than it had in years. What if they found her and let the world know what she'd done? She'd lose her job and her friends. She'd be lucky if they didn't kill her.

"Are you alright?" Draco sounded concerned. "You’re pale."

Rosalind shook her head, forcing back the knot in her throat. "No." Her voice was as faint as her eyesight. "I think I’m going to be sick.” She took a seat outside the room, feeling as if the pasties were on their way back up. 

"What’s wrong?” Draco asked, observing her blanched expression. 

"I have to talk to Bowen,” she said, glancing at him. “And Harry. They need to know."

"Know what? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

"What they’re capable of,” Rosalind nearly growled, rubbing her forehead. “The might even--” She stood, grabbing Draco by the elbow to the nearest fireplace. “We have to go.” The pair walked swiftly into green flames, reemerging in the atrium, Rosalind’s pace quickening as she ordered Draco to fetch Bowen, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dawlish. She snatched her notes from her desk, striding to the Auror’s department where Bowen, Draco, and the Aurors greeted her with somber eyes. 

"Mr. Malfoy has informed us that you needed to speak with us immediately," he said with a pale face. "I understand that you've already spoken with Ms. Breckenridge, is that correct?"

"Yes sir," she replied nervously, her notes tucked under her arm. He signaled her to continue and Rosalind spread her maps, spreadsheets and notes on the mahogany desk. She inhaled sharply again, beginning her theory.

"Since Adriana Holmes was attacked, I've been researching and noticing patterns in certain areas. Specifically, more rural areas such as the village she is from have been targeted probably because they normally do not report crimes unless someone has died. The death toll has not been high unless there have been repeat offenses." She pulled out a map of a nearby town, little red dots sparkling where people had died, blue ink marking where they had been mysteriously attacked or disappeared. "This has been going on for a couple of years and they don't target the wealthy. I don't think that's a coincidence." She stared at them, waiting for a reaction but they were enthralled in the maps and diagrams, passing them around.

"The wealthy have all they need and are more of a risk, as well as the elderly. The majority of the people who have been attacked or disappeared are working class or working poor adults who are struggling to get by. And also--" she waved her wand, a financial chart displaying in front of them. "These people don't have much going for them. They aren't Ministry employees, they aren't bankers or shop owners, they are the economically disadvantaged who are barely getting by. Every single time one of them turns up missing or dead, there is a record that it is a repeat offense--someone has been harassing them and nothing was done and even then their murders were unsolved." She waved her wand again, throwing up graphic images into the air. Ron and Hermione grimaced at the photographs. "Additionally, they have become progressively worse: what started out as slashed throats and severed body parts eventually became decapitated heads with animal-like markings, and what is known as a Columbian necktie."

“What’s a Columbian necktie?” Ron asked as another photograph enlarged as an example, Ron’s face immediately turning green. 

"What makes you believe these are related, Miss Morana?" Bowen asked skeptically. 

"Because I knew people just like this." She waved her wand once more, and the photographs became even more grotesque, evidenced by the cringing in the room. "When I was in El Salvador I was part of a team that fought against gang members and human traffickers. The aftermath of our civil war left our economy in shambles and we have yet to recover from it because gangs have rampaged the country to increase their numbers. They don't go after the wealthy unless they are looking for ransom, they target the poor and the disadvantaged, the ones who feel like they have nothing to lose because they are the easiest to manipulate. Talking to Breckenridge earlier confirmed my suspicions--she was taken by these same people. I knew right away when she told me that there were a mix of Muggles and wizards because that's exactly what it was like in El Salvador. Corrupt wizards have teamed up with Muggle  _ mareros _ to overthrow the government under the guise that integration is the way of the future. By the time I left the States they had already made it there. They were in our neighborhoods and in with our law enforcement agencies.”

“But the Statute of Secrecy--”

“--Is not enforced. No one cares as long as they’re getting what they want.”

Bowden leaned back in his chair, his hands folded together. He glanced at Harry and Dawlish, who had their lips pursed. “Continue.” 

Rosalind held her breath, her hands still shaking, her palms dripping to the point so could barely hold her wand. “The night my parents died our house was broken into. They were both gang members but one was a wizard and one was a Muggle. They murdered them before I had a chance to save them and attempted to dismember their bodies.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, a tear beginning to trail down her cheek. She wiped it away annoyingly as Hermione gasped, the remaining Aurors appearing uncomfortable. “But they weren’t the intended targets--I was. The reason they found me was because they tracked me through my wand. There had been rumors that that was how lawbreakers were caught and imprisoned. With the help of my former partner my sister and I fled to Mexico before coming here. My old partner said he had heard the rumors as well and that American agencies were combining Muggle technology with wand tracking, discreetly as it would cause an uproar. I don’t have anything to confirm that but after the attacks a few years ago in New York and other events I wouldn’t be surprised.” She hovered her eyes around the room, heart thundering against her chest. 

The Aurors glanced at each other wordlessly, then spoke to each other low enough that Rosalind couldn't hear. She looked over at Draco, who appeared to be listening in as well. Finally, Bowen turned his chair to face Rosalind, looking grim. “Thank you for the information Miss Morana, we will be discussing any action to take. You are dismissed.” 

Rosalind nodded, feeling torn that she wasn't included in the discussion. She pursed her lips and let herself out with Draco, slumping into her chair, feeling queasy again. Her head was pounding from the conversation with Breckenridge, worsened by her talk about her parents. She had never talked about her parents before, let alone how they died. Emma was right. It was all her fault.

An awkward hand rested on her shoulder, forcing her to jump. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve had a long day.” She gripped onto his forearm, the echoes of conversations in the Ministry fading, replaced with the deafening silence of Draco’s flat. She zombied over to his couch while he fetched a pot of tea, pouring a cup for her as she stared blankly at the wooden floor.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, taking a seat in the single leather couch before her. “About your parents.” He stared at her hauntingly dark eyes, specs of tears edging them.

“I’ve never talked about them before,” she finally said, her voice hollow. “Saying it out loud felt different than I thought it would. It made it more real...that it was my fault.”

“What?” Draco asked in astonishment. “How could that be your fault--”

“Because they were there to kill me!” Her teeth grit as she shrieked, her eyes wide in panic. “I was supposed to die that night! I should have died!” Her lips quivered as she was unable to control her sobs, streams of tears running down her cheeks. 

“But why?” Draco asked gingerly. “Was it because you were part of that group? Were you all targeted?”

Rosalind shook her head, one hand wiping her nose. “It’s more so because of what I did.” She hung her head, holding her knees against her chest. 

“You think they’re going to come after you again, don’t you?”

“If that’s what they want then I’ll die.” She sniffed, his pale grey eyes glazing in concern. 

"They won't, Rosalind," he said calmly, scooting next to her. "You're working for the Ministry. They'll take care of you." He Summoned a blanket, wrapping it around her to keep her from shivering. "Do you really think they'll come looking for you?" 

She nodded slowly, clutching the blanket. "I did a lot of damage while I was down there."

"What do you mean? I thought you were aiding people?"

"We were but...we were allowed to defend ourselves however we wanted. That included Unforgivable Curses." She wiped her bow with her sleeve, shivering. 

"Were you tortured?” he asked, concerned. “Did they use Unforgivable Curses on you?" 

"No," she said darkly, peering through her wet lashes into his pale face. "I used them. On a lot of people." 

The little color in Draco’s face flushed into his hairline. “What? Why would you do that?”

"Because I was angry!" she exclaimed, slamming her fists, the tea splattering on them. "I was always angry and I didn’t know how to deal with it!” She shoved her face into her knees, sobbing. "I thought that if they were b-bad people then it was okay!" 

"That's in the past, you can't do anything about it now, you've changed--"

"Have I?" she asked, staring at Draco dead in the eyes. "I'm not so sure I have." She looked ashamed, the guilt written all over her face. 

"It's not like you killed anyone right?" he asked. "It was part of the job and didn’t escalate--” 

Rosalind shook her head, stained tears skimming onto her sweater. “I did. I killed a lot of people.” 

Her heart clenched as she saw the fear and judgment in his eyes, his mouth agape. “How many?”

Her head swayed slowly, her shoulder shifting into a shrug. “I have no idea. I don’t remember.” Her eyelids were a deep purple from exhaustion. “I was a  _ sicario _ ,” she continued softly. “A hit man--we all had different roles and it turned out that’s what I was best at. Being undercover, killing men who trafficked women and children and hurt them. Bad people who deserved what they got.” She sniffed, snot syruping down her nose and onto her cracked lips. “But at what point does that make me as bad as them?” 

Draco was stunned into silence. Rosalind tried to read his face but it was frozen in shock. Or disgust, she wasn’t sure. Her dark eyes were bloodshot, stained with tears. “I’m not a good person, Draco. If they find me and kill me it’s because I deserve it.” 

“Don’t say that,” Draco said sternly. “Don’t you ever say that.” His eyes searched for hers as she avoided his gaze. 

“I hurt everyone I care about,” she continued, her chest heaving. “Everyone I’ve ever been close to, my friends, my family, everyone--they end up dead or hurt because of me--”

“Stop!” he demanded, her body jolting. “You are not the same person! I’ve seen you, I know you--”

“I enjoyed it!” she cried, Draco’s face furrowing in shock. “I enjoyed it because I was good at it. I thought it was justified. But then...afterwards I’d feel so guilty. I was disgusted with myself.” She stared at the empty space between them. “I’m still disgusted with myself.” 

Draco continued to stare at her at a loss for words, Rosalind sobbing into her knees as her breathing became ragged. “How did...how did you become that way?”

She sighed, her head feeling as if it were splitting open. “My first boyfriend...he was abusive. Eventually I was able to get away from him but before I left for El Salvador I had the urge to see him. I had no intentions of hurting him--I just wanted closure--but I thought he was going to hurt me again and I snapped. But all of this, everything I’ve done, doesn’t that make me just as bad as them?”

“I think it’s a lot more complicated than that,” he said in a low voice, Rosalind’s face blackened from tears. He pulled her into his chest, grabbing her by the shoulders. She stared at him wide eyed, a thousand questions running through her mind. “I don’t think it’s my place to judge you for what you’ve done and what you’ve been through,” he said, her head resting on his shoulder. 

She blinked tears from her damp lashes, swollen from the salt, her heart sighing in relief. In his own words he was trying to accept her--or something like it, like she had done for him. Her right arm snaked underneath his left, clinging onto him as if he would leave her there, broken. She breathed slowly, her heart thudding against her chest. 

She fumbled around her pockets, feeling an odd burning sensation. “My Galleon is going off,” she said as she pulled out the large gold coin from her pockets. Minuscule writing was etching around the edges. “There’s a meeting tonight for the order at seven.” She glanced at the clock. It was half past six. “I better get going.”

His face suddenly annoyed. “Going to see your boyfriend, are you?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, stung, gathering herself and making her way over to the fireplace. 

“Right. Just a friend who you snog.” 

She glared at him. “What’s wrong? Just a minute ago you seemed fine--”

“Yeah well just a minute ago we were having a moment after you’ve had an awful day,” he retorted. 

“We did have a moment!” she cried. “Do you think I would’ve told anyone that? And let them see me like this?” She threw her hands in the air, her sweater and curls a mess. 

Draco sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his platinum locks. “I apologize. I’m still processing what you’ve told me. Just forget I said anything.”

“Draco I--”

“Just forget it, Rosalind.”

His jaw was clenched and he was avoiding her gaze, her body facing his kitchen. She stared at him for a moment before mustering up the courage to speak. 

“Thank you,” she finally said. “For listening.” 

He nodded slowly, turning to stare over her head. “That’s what friends are for right?” He cocked his head to the side with a sneer. 

“Right.” Her heart tugged, strangely feeling empty. “That’s what friends are for.” 

Draco stood to his full height. “See you later Morana,” he said flatly.

Rosalind tried to muster a small smile but faltered. “Bye Malfoy.” With a faint pop she Apparated back into her own apartment, the guilt quickly rushing in: she had feelings for George there was no doubt about that, and she knew she cared about him. But she couldn’t deny it anymore--she would never feel good enough for him, and he would never accept her for who she was. 

**Next chapter: Adore You.**


	21. Adore You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "George would notice."

**Chapter title taken from the Harry Style’s song.** ****

**Trigger warning: self harm.**

_I’m the only person who would ever care about you. Who else would want you? You’re worthless._

Most days, those words faded into memory. But on days like today, they echoed further into her ears, bleeding out from her tear ducts. 

They started as whispers, lingering in the back of her head. They would then blossom into voices, then demonize into her psyche: reminding her, always, of who she was. She could never escape. 

Rosalind sank into the ground, still pinching nail marks into her arm. _I’m so stupid_ , she thought. _He was right._

_No one will love you._

_You’re crazy._

_After everything you’ve done to your sister? How can you say that you have the ability to love people? No one would do that to the one that they love._

“Stop it,” she muttered out loud, her breathing staccattoing. “That’s not true.”

_All you do is hurt the people you claim to care about. How could anyone care about you?_

“I can care about people I’m not a terrible person--”

_You’re manipulative. You use people. You hurt them to save your own neck._

“No--no I don’t--”

_You’re heartless. A monster._

_Self-destructive. Useless._

“STOP IT!” She covered her ears, dropping her head and the rest of her body onto the floor. “I’m not! No I’m not!”

_You don’t deserve to live._

Rosalind’s body was parallel to the floor, her heart beating as slow as the ticking of the clock. On the other side of the room lay a shard of glass, likely from one of her drunken nights long ago. Shaped like an iceberg, with harsh ragged edges, glistening in the evening sun. It stared back at her curiously. Begging her to be picked up, sliced against her skin. _“Horizontal for attention, vertical for results.”_

She crawled like an animal, grabbing the glass and placing it on her wrist. She shoved it hard against her skin, digging deep for any sign of life inside her, for crimson strings of blood to slither out of her arm. But they never came. Her body was so deadened nothing could penetrate it. The window clanked as she threw the shard, frustrated that she couldn’t feel anything. Not physical at least--she couldn’t remember the last time she felt physically hurt. But the emotional pain--that never left. 

Seven chimes from the clock signaled that it was time for the meeting at The Burrow. She tried to lift her body and spirit but her soul was too heavy. It wasn’t like anyone would miss her or notice she was gone, anyway. She was insignificant, a newcomer. A parasite. 

_George would notice_ , a small voice offered. _He would miss you. He cares about you._

He wouldn’t care if he found out about Draco, she couldn’t help think. He would leave and forget about her--it was her own fault anyway.

_But he still cares about you._

Rosalind’s heart burned at the thought of George knowing. She slowed her breathing, opening her eyes and forcing herself up. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. 

At almost a quarter past seven, she cleaned herself up enough to be presentable. A small popping sound signaled her departure and arrival at The Burrow. 

Smiles and laughter faded as soon as Rosalind stepped into the usually warm, cozy home. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t even at the door to greet her since she was late. Hermione, Ginny, Harry and Ron were sitting at the crowded far end of the table and George was nowhere in sight. The only chair available was next to a lanky, dorky looking young man with oversized ears, two left feet and a friendly smile. She smiled shyly and he nodded, allowing her to take the seat. 

“You must be Rosalind,” he said taking out his hand. “Harry and Kingsley’ve been talking about you.”

“Why what’d they say?” she asked paranoid. “How’d you know that?” 

“Harry described you as the small brown girl running around the Ministry with Malfoy,” he said with a laugh. “I saw you in the _Prophet_ a while back too.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed. “Yeah I guess that’s the easiest way to describe me.” 

“They’re in serious talks that there could be a revolt soon, is that true?” the young man asked in a lowered voice. “Werewolves and Muggles?” 

Rosalind paused. What else did he know? “Who knows, I’ve learned that anything is possible here.” 

The man opened his mouth, when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s booming voice silenced the room. “Evening everyone. It has been a long day at the Ministry today, we’ve had several incidents occur as of late.” He cleared his throat, turning to Harry. “As many of you are aware, there have been more disappearances and deaths recently. Mr. Potter will take the lead and explain a possible theory, as well as possible outcomes.” The Minister bowed his head to Harry, who took his turn at the front of the room. 

“Well,” he began, holding rolls of parchment and what appeared to be Rosalind’s notes. “One of our newest recruits, Ms. Morana has offered a theory after conducting her own research and speaking to a fellow officer who was attacked just last week. She already explained it to us in detail so to save her the trouble I will do my best to explain everything to everyone here as well.” He glanced at her, and Rosalind signaled that it was alright. The room listened intently: not once did anyone interrupt Harry or ask where he got the information, until he mentioned the tracking of the wands. 

“Who’s to say that she isn’t working with ‘em?” a disgruntled old wizard chipped in. “She is from the same country as ‘em, what’s she got to gain from us? Woudn’t be a wee bit surprised if they tracked ‘er all the way over ‘ere.” 

“I didn’t come all the way over here with my own wand,” Rosalind retorted, offended. “It was destroyed in a fire when my parents were murdered and I walked into Mexico to get a new one before flying here.” 

The entire Order shifted their heads into her direction. “You walked into another country without a wand?” someone scoffed. “And flew here? That’s quite the way for a broom.”

“No I flew here on a Muggle plane,” she replied, uneasy from the aisles of eyes staring her down. “With my sister when she was a child. That was the easiest way to get here.”

“A Muggle contraption? Why not a Portkey?” the same wizard pressed.

“I had no access to one and I wasn’t about to enter a country illegally.” 

The old man _hmphed_ , as murmurs interrupted them. They didn’t trust her. No matter how hard she tried, she would never entirely fit in with them. 

“Well now that we have that settled, let’s move on,” Harry cut in. He pulled out Rosalind’s charts, further explaining her theory. Rosalind tuned out his words; they were hard enough to say, let alone hear from someone else. She began pinching her arm again in frustration. 

“Hey,” the young man next to her whispered as Harry continued. “I thought that was brave what you did. And with your little sister? I bet she really looks up to you.” 

Rosalind let out a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“I’m Neville by the way,” he said waving awkwardly. “Neville Longbottom.”

Rosalind shot up in her chair. “You’re Neville Longbottom? The guy that was almost the Chosen One? Who killed You-Know-Who’s basilisk at the Battle of Hogwarts with the Sword of fucking Gryffindor?” 

Neville’s eyes widened as his face flushed. “I s’ppose that’s one way to put it, yeah,” he said timidly. “I didn’t know people actually knew about that.” 

“Are you serious?” Rosalind laughed, starstruck. “You’re everywhere back home. After the Golden Trio you’re just as famous.”

Neville’s face burned a brighter shade of scarlet. “Well I don’t know about all that, they did most of the work.” He laughed nervously, moving a strand of hair behind his large ears. “They deserve the glory.” 

“So do you,” she complied. “You were just as essential as they were.” 

“Well uh, thank you,” he answered modestly. “Most people don’t recognize me so it’s odd when someone does.” 

“I’m glad I did then,” she began to smile when Harry spoke in her direction. 

“Rosalind? Are you able to do that?” he asked. 

“Do what?” she asked lamely, having no idea what he said. 

“Help us organize a resistance team against these foreigners,” he replied. “You know them better than we do. Everyone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will need help. We need training.” 

It was Rosalind’s turn to burn red. “Really? You want me to help?” she asked with a dumbfounded look. “I uh--yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good. We start tomorrow. You’ll lead the group. We’ll have a meeting beforehand to discuss various tactics.” He clapped his hands, signaling the end of the meeting and the table began to disperse. 

Shit, Rosalind thought. How the hell am I supposed to train a group of wizards against these guys? They probably don't know a thing about the Dark Arts. 

She sighed, as Neville patted her gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry I’m sure you’ll do great,” he said with a smile. “It’ll be like old times at Hogwarts with Dumbledore’s Army.” She tried to reciprocate the smile before he turned away to talk to the strange girl, Luna Lovegood but couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

As the crowd left and the table emptied, Rosalind remained in her seat, jaw clenched and tapping her foot. She shouldn’t have said yes. If it came down to it she would get so many people killed...she couldn’t live with anymore guilt. 

“Why the long face, love?” a familiar voice asked. George’s hands clasped her own and he kissed her sweetly. “Long day at work?”

“You could say that,” she said avoiding his gaze. “Lots of old memories brought back.” 

“I’m sorry.” He sat in Neville’s seat, caressing her knee. “Harry and Hermione told me what happened before you arrived, I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” she replied in a hollow voice. “Doesn’t matter now. Can’t do anything about it.” She held her breath to hold back her tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of George. 

“C’mere,” he grabbed her hand. “Hold on.” Before she could react they were upstairs, in a rickety area of the house: two twin beds sat on opposite sides of the room, Quidditch posters all over the walls, trunks full of old joke shop product on the floor, some still weaseling their way around. A picture of two gingered-haired boys was displayed on the dresser, beaming with their big round eyes. On the other bed there was a picture of Fred and George, the day their shop opened. 

“Is this your old room?” Rosalind asked, wanting to look at more baby pictures. “With Fred?” 

George nodded. “Indeed it is. Haven’t been up here in ages.” His normal cheery tone was gone; he sounded like he was in mourning. “I figured I needed to get you away from the crowd.” 

“You didn’t have to bring me here if you didn’t want to,” she said quietly. “But I really appreciate it.” 

George peered into her eyes, grazing her cheek. “I wanted to make sure you felt safe.” His voice was soft, not as somber. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Rosalind stared at the ground, knowing where this was going. “I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can,” George replied, still staring at her. “But I want to be the one who keeps you safe and takes care of you. I lo--I adore you, Rosie. You mean the world to me.” He closed his eyes as Rosalind’s remained open, as he gave her the most passionate kiss she had ever felt: tender, warm and full of love. "I would do anything for you. Anything to make you happy." 

Rosalind sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I adore you too George.” 

And she cried, not because of the intimate moment between them, but because of the guilt she was carrying. 

**Poor Rosalind. She can’t seem to ever feel good about herself. I know this was a shorter chapter, I thought it’d be a nice change from the uber long ones I’ve been posting. Oftentimes I don't realize how long they are until after I post them. Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter is a flashback, immediately after Rosalind and Emma arrive in London.**

**Next chapter: Tears in Heaven.**


	22. Tears in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you going to be in heaven with us too?"

**Chapter title taken from the legendary Eric Clapton song.**

I didn’t anticipate how different our new life would be like. Hell, I didn’t anticipate much. I didn’t plan for anything at all because I was so desperate. With hardly any money and no friends other than the acquaintance Tom, Emma and I didn’t have anywhere to stay if the Leaky Cauldron was full. If the shelters were at capacity we’d set up a makeshift camp in the woods. 

“Sissy,” Emma’s small voice said through her burrito of layers. “Where are Mami and Papi now? Are they in heaven?”

_Heaven._ I almost laughed. The afterlife was something I hadn’t thought about in a long time, and I wasn’t sure if I believed in it anymore. “Of course they are. They’re good people, they’re up there with the rest of their families.” 

“I really miss them,” she sniffed. We were laying on the damp forest floor, me enveloping her with my body like a cocoon to keep her warm. 

“I know. I really miss them too.” I stroked her head gently to put her to sleep. 

“Will we see them again?” she asked, slightly sobbing. “In heaven?” 

“Yes,” I said with a pause. “You will see them again.” 

“And you? Are you going to be in heaven with us too?”

I hesitated, my heart pinging. “I hope so.” 

She glanced up at me with her large black eyes, just like our dad’s. “I hope so too.” 

I stroked her head again, holding back my sobs. “Don’t worry about me, sissy. I’ll be okay.” 

Emma nodded. “I know. You’re not afraid of anything.” She rolled back over, closed her eyes and fell asleep in my arms. 

I wish I was fearless. But I was more scared than I had been in my life. I was so used to just watching out for myself and now all of a sudden having a little girl with me made me extremely anxious. I was no longer looking out for only myself, I had basically become a parent overnight. 

Emma and I frequented Diagon Alley, window shopping for things we knew we couldn't afford. With her nose pressed against Ollivander’s she begged me to take her inside. 

“Ah, shopping for a new wand?” the old man asked upon entering his dainty shop, the dust from the top of the door sprinkling on our beanies. 

I shook my head. “Just browsing. I do have a new wand and am curious if you could tell me about it.”

“From a European wand maker?”

“No from Mexico actually. I’ve only had it a few days and it’s quite different than my old one.” I drew my ten and a quarter inch wand, the old man taking it in with awe. "It doesn't always do what I want."

“Ahuehuete,” he breathed, inspecting my wand as if he had been waiting for it. “The national tree of Mexico. Rare to see outside of the country.” He flicked his wrist, a firecracker of a spark emitting from the tip. “A fierce, protective wand, once it has become accustomed to its owner.”

“Accustomed?” I asked perplexed. “Like becoming acquainted with me?”

“Yes,” he handed my wand to me, finished with his inspection. “Ahuehuete is a tree that has been used for several properties for centuries by the ancient Aztec. It is for a warrior and like a noble steed, it takes time to become accustomed to its owner.”

“I see,” I respond, still a bit perplexed. “I guess we’re still getting to know each other.” 

He smiled, reassuring me I had a quality wand. “And the little one?” He turned his attention to Emma. “Has she shown signs of magic yet?” 

I shook my head. Emma was nine, old enough to have produced some type of magic. “She hasn’t actually. Not so far, I mean.” 

“Traumatizing events can withhold magic,” Mr. Ollivander said somberly. 

I did my best from raising my brow. How the hell did he know that? “So I’ve heard,” was all I said. I turned back around to face him. He wasn’t looking at me accusingly, but more like he knew more than he wanted to admit. 

“Don’t you worry, I’m sure she’ll shown signs of magic soon.” He smiled suddenly, waving me goodbye. “By the way, there are a few shops around town in need of help. I’m sure you’ll be able to find employment nearby.” He gave me a gentle smile, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I stared at him for a moment, unsure how to react. “Thank you Mr. Ollivander.” 

Emma tugged at my arm. “When will I get one?” she asked, waving to a tawny owl. 

“When you go to Hogwarts of course,” I replied. “You’re only a couple years away.” 

She frowned for a moment, but it quickly turned into a smile. “That’s forever away but I guess I can wait.” She was eyeing the hot chocolate shop just down the alley. “Can we have some sissy? I’m really cold and thirsty.” 

I rummaged in my bag for some change, knowing we’d barely have enough. We trekked through the greying snow into the shop, our nostrils immediately filled with rich chocolate and caramel smells. The shop was quaint, crowded and warm: Christmas decorations were flowing freely from the ceiling, small firecrackers dusting trails of sparks onto the top of passerby's heads. Emma pointed out which hot chocolate and candy cane she wanted and seeing how little change I had I forwent my own. She hobbled over to a rickety table, nearby a young couple. She scowled by how hot her drink was, sucking on the candy cane instead. The young woman kept eyeing us, giving me an odd smile. 

"Your daughter is beautiful," she observed still looking at Emma. "She looks just like you, doesn't she honey?" she asked her husband.

The man glanced at us, darting from one of us to the other. "Quite alike. Children tend to look like their parents. Quite a shame you're doing it alone."

"She's my sister not my daughter." It took all my strength to not hex him. "But I guess I am a single parent, seeing as our parents are dead." 

The couple stared at each other perplexed and embarrassed. The woman opened her mouth as if to apologize, but I grabbed Emma's arm before they could retort. "But sissy I'm not done with my hot chocolate!" she cried, drops spilling onto the wooden floor. 

I ignored her, taking the drink in one hand and picking her up with the other. I was furious. That was the first of many times that people assumed Emma was my daughter. Not that I blamed them, poor thing looks just like me but with darker, rounder eyes and straight hair. I was suffering from the spotlight affect, always feeling as if we were being stared at. Emma’s kind heart allowed her to be sweet to anyone, which always introduced a flood of questions. _Why are you here? You're so young you look like you should be in school! Your accent is lovely! What other language do you speak? Are you here to travel? What made you pick London? Is she going to go to Hogwarts? Where are your parents? Are you a single mother? Bless you, raising a child at such a young age by yourself._ I knew the questions weren't always meant to be offensive and were usually mere curiosity, but they made me angry and anxious. 

With little options for the night, I checked us into a Muggle homeless shelter, always my last resort. They checked all our belongings, and it was tricky getting through security and Impereoating the volunteers so they wouldn't confiscate my wand. They treated us like animals because we had nowhere to go. Some of the people there were alright, genuinely concerned because I had a child with me. Working was difficult because she wasn't old enough to be by herself all day so she’d occupy herself reading or making small talk with the customers at the Leaky Cauldron. 

The nights were the worst. It was never silent with all the bodies laying around, snoring, sneaking in drugs, frolicking around with each other. I was always afraid something would happen to Emma so I made sure to watch her throughout the night. It broke my heart how much she tossed and turned, talking in her sleep. She missed our mom the most. I could always tell when she was having nightmares by the way her face scrunched up and how tears would seep through her dreams. 

"It's all...your fault..." she repeated. "Your fault...you did this..."

My heart stopped. I tried to shake her gently hoping that it would knock her out of it. 

"You did this...you hate us..."

"Sissy," I said quietly, shaking her a little more quickly. "You're having a nightmare, wake up." 

Her tiny lips were still trembling, hissing out her bad memories. As soon as I leaned closer to grab her shoulders, her coal-like eyes snapped open, looking directly into mine. "It was all your fault." She said it so quietly I could barely hear the words. Her eyes began to swell, but she still looked dazed. "Why would you do this to us?" 

I dropped her, her head hitting the edge of the cot. "I didn't do anything!" I said choking back tears. "I'm trying to help you!"

Emma shook her head violently. "You abandoned us! You don't care!" 

"That's not true!" I yelled trying to calm her down. The last thing we needed was someone not minding their business. "That's not true at all!" I reached my hand out but she backed herself into the wall. 

"Get away from me! I don't want you to hurt me!" she looked scared, the bags under her eyes crimson from crying. 

"I'm not going to hurt you! You just need to calm down--"

"NO!" She covered her ears, glass shattering above us: the light bulbs were raining down on us from the entire building. "I hate you! I hate you! YOU KILLED THEM!" 

"Emma p-please!" I begged, trying to hold her. "Not now, we need to leave!" I had my wand drawn, and she knew I meant business. She looked at me pathetically, wordlessly, shaking her head. Everyone from the floor was starting to wake up since the alarm was now blaring. Without another word I grabbed her arm, Dissaparating from that place, barely making it into our destination. 

As soon as our feet landed Emma wrung free from my reach, running into the cobbled pavement. Not wanting to Stun her I tackled her, pinning her small body into the ground. She had her eyes closed again, refusing to look at me. "Stop this Emma, please!" 

"Go away! I don't want to see you and I don't want you to be my sister!"

"You don't mean that!" I cried, completely crushed. "You're just upset from a nightmare!" 

"But it felt r-real!" She wiped away a tear, beginning to calm down. "I thought it was real!" She sobbed, sitting up in the snow. 

"I know sissy but don't worry," I said trying to sound more sure than I felt. "It's not real." 

She sniffed, looking like a little zombie with her bloodshot eyes. "I m-miss them. I wish I could forget everything." She stared into the powdered ground, avoiding my gaze. My wand was still in my hand, ready to strike. I set it on the front of her head, acting quickly. 

_"Obliviate."_

My Memory Charm hit her so hard she fell asleep. I became so good at them that she would often get confused as to what was a real memory and what was a dream. It killed me every time I did it. Seeing her frail body slam onto the floor like a cat made me feel like a terrible person. But it was for the greater good, I kept telling myself. As long as she wasn't hurting and didn't turn out like me I figured everything would be okay. Every once in a while I would miss and hit her back or her chest, causing her to become dazed, usually after a bad fight. But I couldn't do anything to stop the nightmares--she cried every night for our parents. I felt helpless. 

I held her outside in the snow, shaking from what I had done. I held her to my chest, cradling her like a doll. I couldn't keep doing this, I couldn't keep erasing her memory. It was killing me. But I felt that I had no other choice. We sat there for what felt like days, and I still couldn't sleep. I didn't want anyone to see us.

“Please forgive me,” I whispered, not knowing who I was talking to. “For all the things that I have done. I’m sorry.” I sobbed, globs of tears splashing onto my jacket. “I’m so sorry.” I wasn’t sure if I was praying, or just asking for forgiveness in general. Either way if there was a Hell, I knew at that moment that is where I would be headed. 

I heard footsteps besides us: a portly middle-aged man stood by me with a lantern, and I immediately moved away as soon as he spoke.

"What're you two young girls doing out 'ere in the cold?" he asked, waving his lamp at me. "Are ye mad?"

I shook my head, hoping Emma wouldn't wake up. "No." 

"Why don't you come inside? I got an opening for ya."

I shook my head again. "I can't Tom. I don’t have enough money." My face burned red, my ego starting to diminish. 

The man smiled at me gently, throwing his cloak over my shoulders. "Don't worry, we'll take care o' you." Before I could retort he already had me inside the pub, the Leaky Cauldron sign barely visible through the wind and snow. The door clanked behind us, and we were immediately swept into the warmth of the building. He grabbed some blankets and a room key, leading us upstairs to the top floor. 

"Good morning, Tom!" a humpbacked witch with two teeth in her mouth greeted the barman. "Newcomers, eh?" 

"Good morning Matilda," he replied with a smile. "Indeed they are, don't try to scare 'em away."

She winked at him, then at us. "Wouldn't dream of it." 

Tom waved his wand in front of the door of room 602, whisking us inside. It smelled of mold and old potions.

"'Ere you go," he said setting the blankets on top of the dresser. "Sleep through the night and see me in the morning." He smiled at me one last time, leaving before I could thank him.

After Ernesto, Tom was the first man I met that didn't have a hidden agenda with me. He knew every single person that came in and out of his pub by name and was friendly with all of them. Since he knew so many people that meant he had a lot of connections--we had an agreement that in exchange for living part time at the Leaky Cauldron Emma and I would both work. Emma helped in the kitchens with the women while I bartended at night and worked during the day. Tom was able to score me odd jobs with a few shops, usually from Diagon Alley. He kept bringing up the joke shop down the way, owned by some kid not that much older than me but I always turned it down. I told him that you can't have an unfunny person working at a joke shop because no money would be made. 

"You never know," he always told me. "Might find the man o' yer dreams there." 

"That's why he's called the man of my dreams Tom," I'd reply with a laugh. "He doesn't exist." 

I very much appreciated Tom. He helped me get back on my feet when I had nowhere else to go and did much more for me than I deserved. Those first two years with Emma were the hardest in my life because I had to earn enough for two, but once she was in Hogwarts it became much easier. I was finally able to afford my own place that was away from the madness of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom knew that my dream was to work in the Ministry and I'm convinced that he was part of the reason I landed that interview. After being in London for years however I still had no friends due to working at all hours, so it was hard working all day and not even having Emma to talk to while she was at Hogwarts. She wrote to me frequently, telling me she got Sorted into Gryffindor. I always wondered what I'd be sorted into. As much as I wanted to go visit her--the Headmistress said I could--I couldn't bring myself to do it. I've caused her so much damage and traumatized her enough. I didn't want to hurt her anymore. It was a huge sigh of relief when she first left to Hogwarts, it meant that she was safe. Safe from me, the person who was likely hurting her more than anything. 

A tawny owl swooped through my window, landing carefully and placing a large envelope onto my hand, hooting at me annoyingly for a treat.

“Sorry I’ve got no food for you.” I patted its head, opening the envelope with the large _“M”_ stamped on front. I carefully read the elegant writing:

_Dear Ms. Morana,_

_We have carefully reviewed your resume and would like to schedule an interview for a position that was recently made available at the Ministry of Magic. Please respond by owl post no later than three days time._

_Sincerely,_

_Faris Gambol_

_Ministry of Magic Research and Hiring Committee_

“Oh my Merlin,” I said in shock, staring at the owl, whose overly large eyes looked confused. “I got an interview at the Ministry!” I jumped up and down like a school girl, as the owl hooted its excitement. 

I cried from excitement. I was finally getting a shot at what I wanted the most, to work in the Ministry. I really needed this job. Maybe there I would learn something, maybe there I could figure out if I’m a good person or not. I was tired of being constantly miserable and disappointed in myself. I needed more financial security not just for me but for Emma too whenever she came home. 

I stroked the owl’s head after scribbling down a quick response, feeling somewhat relaxed. Scared, happy, elated, yet nervous. I had a good feeling about this--something was telling me that everything was going to be okay. I hadn’t felt that in a long time. Maybe this was the break that I needed, what would help push me forward. The muscles on my face almost didn’t allow me to smile at the owl since I hadn’t used them in so long. I nodded and the owl hooted one last time, flying away with my response tied to its leg into the sunset. 

**So there it is, everything leading up to the present part of the story. The flashbacks aren’t over quite yet, there will at least be one or two more. As always, thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: Seven Nation Army.**


	23. Seven Nation Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you are a Dark Wizard."

**Chapter title taken from the White Stripes song.**

The parchment and quill kept staring at her, shrugging because they didn’t know what to write either. How was Rosalind supposed to help train a group of officers and Aurors, having barely been in the force herself? She jammed the quill on the parchment, writing a big question mark, shaking her head and walking into the Auror’s department and straight into Harry’s office. 

Harry, Dawlish and Bowen were already in their respective chairs, the older men downing a shot of whiskey, muttering something about how they would need it. “Ah, Ms. Rosalind,” Bowen greeted her, offering a seat. “Pleased to see you’ve made it this morning.” He put out his cigar, the smoke circling their heads. Rosalind inhaled a cloud of smoke, trying her best not to cough. 

“So,” Harry said as he waved away the ashes from the cigar. “The Order should be here soon. What do you have planned out for today’s lesson?”

Rosalind looked at her roll of parchment before quickly stuffing it in her robe. “Well first I’d like to know what my limits are. I’m not sure what previous training everyone has had so I don’t really want to go over what they’re good at, I’d rather exploit their weak spots and go from there.” 

“Glad you asked,” Bowen said as she slid a piece of parchment under her nose. “Here’s a list of what Aurors have been trained on and when, as well as the rest of the department. We don’t have all the details of members of the Order as of late but we should soon.” 

Rosalind glanced through the list, trying to decide where to start: Patronouses, jinxes, curses and physical combat with and without a wand were common themes, but there was one aspect missing that made her nervous. 

“What about Unforgivable Curses? Are we going to be able to train with those?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Well yes,” Harry said as he made his own note on the parchment. “Without using the Killing Curse obviously. What experience do you have with them?”

Rosalind lifted her eyes to meet Harry’s, trying to penetrate his mind. He still wasn’t the best at Occlumency, but she knew that he wouldn’t judge her. “A lot, to be honest,” she admitted. “Use by and against me.” Dawlish and Bowen’s silence made her uneasy. “I hope that’s not a problem.” 

“It’s not don’t worry,” Harry replied reassuringly. “We understand where you’re from and what you’ve been through.” He smiled, calming her nerves. He shuffled several rolls of parchment together, with his small slanted writing in the corner: don't worry, you’ll do great. 

Rosalind smiled. “Thank you Harry.” 

The Boy Who Lived nodded. “Don’t mention it.” 

Rosalind opened the door into the Auror’s Department where all the officers from her division along with members of the Order were chatting amongst each other. Her heart fluttered when she saw George with Ron, who both threw her a wave. Draco was by himself as per usual, engrossed in a book.

She cleared her throat nervously, while Harry rounded up the room, obtaining their attention. All eyes were on her: some excited, others nervous, most apprehensive. They knew she didn’t belong there, with them. 

"Good morning everyone," she said breathing out a sigh. "Now that Harry's caught everyone up to speed, I'm also going to give a brief introduction as to what we'll be doing. The majority of you, particularly members of the Order and Aurors have had very similar training, which is great. We're not here to necessarily teach new things, rather brush up on our skills. Once we've mastered that we can move on to how we can tactfully outsmart these intruders because honestly they're not the smartest, but they're fearless and that's what makes them absolutely terrifying." She cleared her throat, shuffling her notes of parchment. "So we'll start with the basic jinxes and work our way up--pretty soon we'll move onto bigger things like Patronuses and Unforgivable Curses." She glanced at George who looked uncomfortable at the mention of Patronuses. "But if at any time anyone needs to leave, you're welcome to. You're not obligated to stay, and you're not obligated to fight if we need to." The band of witches and wizards seem to understand, and they began. 

Once they got into the full swing of things it wasn't as bad as Rosalind expected--Harry, Ron and Hermione were giving instruction, and even Neville was starting to join in as well. He was a new Auror recruit, since he took time off to travel. Ginny was surprisingly adept at jinxes, blasting her brother Percy clean off his feet. The quirky Luna Lovegood was a quiet assassin as well; her spells were barely audible but her wand always gave off a giant impact. The training sessions occurred a couple times a week, with better participation each time. Duels became common, often times between friends, other times chosen at random. When it came to physical combat no one could beat Rubeus Hagrid the half giant, but Charlie Weasley was a close second when he was able to stop by. Afterwards if the sessions were later in the day many members would head to the pub together for a pint. Rosalind wouldn't always tag along, she felt awkward if George wasn't there, usually opting to hang out with Draco or Blaise or Daphne and Pansy instead. It was a good distraction, the training sessions. They allowed Rosalind to force herself to think ahead and not behind--she couldn't afford to keep dwelling on her past. Not now at least. She was put into a position of semi-leadership and she couldn't let them down. 

"So, I was wondering the other day what would happen if we found ourselves in a duel who would win," George said one afternoon on their way to the Auror's Office. "And I can't quite picture myself losing to someone of your stature," he added with a wink.

"I've taken on guys twice your size before," Rosalind said as she punched his arm. "I could take you on any day of the week." 

George smiled, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her forehead. "I'm only joking love, you know I couldn't bear to hurt you." 

Rosalind blushed, biting her lip as she saw Draco already in the room reading his book, strangely hoping he didn't see anything. "We're covering Patronuses today, by the way. I know that's a sore spot for you so I'm just wondering if that's going to be a problem." 

George's smile vanished. "I heard. I think I'll be alright as long as I don't have to conjure one. I don't have a problem seeing them." He looked down at his girl, lowering his voice. "You make it easier for me." 

Rosalind's heart swelled and contracted at the same time; as much as she loved hearing how George felt about her, she hadn't told him about Draco. But then again nothing had happened between them since the night of her panic attack. 

Instead, she smiled. "You make it easier for me too." 

Harry was rumored to have the best Patronus around so he led the session for the day. Happy memory, he kept repeating, think of your happiest memory and the Patronus should come. Usually in the form of an animal, every once in a while a magical creature. He produced a giant stag almost on command, prancing around proudly around the room. Hermione's was an otter, chased by Ron's Jack Russel Terrier. Luna Lovegood a rabbit, Neville Longbottom a lion. A true Gryffindor. 

"What's your Patronus, Rosalind?" Neville asked as it was the members’ turn. "Something big and mighty like you?" 

Rosalind laughed. "A black mamba actually, but it's been years since I've conjured one. I came across a lethifold back home once." 

"Blimey! A lethifold? Those are incredibly rare!" Neville exclaimed. "How'd you manage to get out of that?" 

"It was either me or the lethifold," she replied modestly. "Someone I knew planted it there, it was a test to see how I did under pressure." 

"Sounds brutal," he said in awe. "Whoever planted that there sounds like a prat though." 

"Oh he was something else alright." She grit her teeth. "But he taught me a lot." 

A jaguar growled, pouncing at the roaring lion. Draco smirked as the ghost-like apparitions fought, making his way to their group. "Are you going to show us what you got or not, Morana?" he asked with a half sneer. "Or did you forget?"

"I didn't forget," she scowled, rolling up her sleeves. She raised her wand, racking her brain for her happiest memory: easy, when she found out she was going to be a big sister thirteen years ago. _"Expecto patronum!"_

Nothing.

Strange, maybe the memory was too old. She tried again, instead thinking of when she was hired at the Ministry. _"Expecto patronum!"_

Still, nothing.

"Maybe I'm using the wrong memory," she said as Neville, George and now Draco were staring at her. "Maybe I need something newer and happier." She then thought of George, and the first time he told her he adored her. That feeling of adoration she felt for the first time in her life, how indescribable it felt. _"Expecto patronum!"_

A black string of fog puffed out of her wand, circling her like smoke. Then nothing. 

"I don't--I don't get it," Rosalind said panicking. "I've never seen that happen before I thought Patronuses were supposed to be white or clear--"

"They are," Draco said slowly. "Unless you're a Dark Wizard."

Rosalind almost dropped her wand, stammering. "But I'm not a Dark Wizard--"

"I didn't say you are," he continued casually. "Just sometimes it's harder than others to produce a Patronus is all." 

"Maybe it's not a good day for you," George offered, stepping closer to her. Draco looked annoyed, but didn't move. "And it's been a long time, you'll get it again." 

"But the black smoke, I don't understand--" 

Draco stared her down, fists clenched. "Maybe you are a Dark Wizard then," he said thickly. 

The malice in his voice shot Rosalind straight through her gut. "Why the fuck would you tell me that?" 

Neville and George stared on confused while Rosalind stomped her way through the door, heading for the hallway. George's footsteps clamored behind her and she quickened her pace, heading for an empty room. 

Sparks flew from her wand as she raised her arm to strike the empty wall when a lanky body grappled her torso, forcing them both to the ground. 

“Gerroff me George!” 

“Rosalind! Stop it!” The petite girl tried to fight him off but he prevailed by pinning down her arms. “I’m trying to help!” 

Rosalind stopped moving, glaring at him. “I don’t need help!” 

“Yes you do!” he yelled as she began struggling again. “Clearly something is bothering you! What’s wrong?” 

“It has nothing to do with you,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “Draco’s being an asshole that’s all.” 

“Well that’s nothing new,” George said matter-of-factly. “But why did that bother you so much? You’re not a Dark Wizard.” 

Rosalind opened her mouth, leaving it hanging for a moment. “I’m not but he knows how much a comment like that would hurt me.” 

“Why? Does he know something I don’t?” he didn’t sound offended, he sounded concerned. “What’s going on?” 

“I--I have to tell you something,” she said quietly, her back against the stone wall. They were sitting on the floor, facing one of the faux windows. It was snowing today. “Draco and I--we’ve become pretty good friends. He knows a lot about me due to the nature of the job. I’m just upset he’d say something like that is all.” She rubbed her arm nervously. “Nothing too serious. I mean I'm not even sad about it though that's the thing I thought he was--"

"Your friend?" 

George's arms were crossed, his toe tapping grudgingly on the floor. "Malfoy isn't the best at keeping friends." 

"I know he’s just so hot and cold sometimes. And we work together so we have to get along." She didn't like how their bodies were side by side, no longer holding each other. 

"You could ask for a different partner if it's a reoccurring problem," he continued. "It's happened to him plenty of times before." 

Rosalind shook her head. "I don't want to. There's no one else that would work with me either." 

George's ear perked. "What makes you say that?" 

"I feel like I have to constantly prove myself. Because I'm American it seems that people think that I don't belong here and I should go home. But they don't understand that I can't go back." Her hand was on her wrist again, gripping it tightly but not enough to leave marks. Another nervous habit. 

George finally faced her, looking concerned. "What exactly happened to you that makes you so scared?" 

Rosalind tried to meet his gaze but focused on the ground ahead of her instead. "I really don't want to talk about it." She wiped her face, even though no tears had formed. "I don't want you to look at me any differently," she finished in a small voice. 

"Rosie at this point there isn't much you could say that would make me see you differently," George said gently. "If you don't want to tell me because it's too painful I understand but if you want this to work as much as I do we'll both have to open up." 

Rosalind's eyes glazed over, her voice still silent. "I can't tell you...but I think I can show you." He looked at her curiously. "How good are you at Legilimency?" 

"Not very," he admitted. "But I can give it a go."

Rosalind shifted her torso so they were facing each other at eye level. "If you really want to know then you'll have to try it. I can open up my mind enough to show you and I'll close it when it becomes too much." 

George eyed her, nodding his head slowly. "Alright. I'll try it." 

Rosalind held her breath, looking into George's eyes blankly, letting her mind be penetrated by his. She felt a sensation of a body walking into hers, stepping into her own: colors swirled together, becoming a blur, then fading into an image clear as a dream. She didn't want him to see everything, only the bits of her life that she hated talking about. The memories started happily, her as a child, her first brushes with magic, then progressed into her sadder years--being a loner at SIM, her one relationship, all the fights she'd get into. When she killed _him_. Her time in El Salvador, and all the people she killed or got killed. Her parents dying, and everything she'd done to Emma. All the times she'd hurt herself, cried herself to sleep. 

_You can't open up to him,_ a sinister voice in the back of her head whispered. _He's going to judge you. Either that, or you'll get him killed._

Rosalind snapped her eyes shut--the room whisked back into normalcy, the dreamlike state swirling away. Her heart was beating rapidly again; George was still staring at her with a blank face. 

"Please say something," she begged. 

He opened his mouth in attempt to speak, but closed it again. "I'm not sure what to tell you." 

Rosalind's heart dropped. She shook her head, chocking back tears. "I knew I shouldn't have shown you all that that was so stupid of me," she said scooting away from him. She stood up, barely able to look at him. "I'm sorry I'm not who you think I am." She was staring at the ground too afraid to see his reaction. "I'm sorry I'm not a good person like you are." 

"Rosalind--"

But she ran, like the coward she was.

***

"If you're seriously worried about these so-called criminals, I can send you away somewhere."

The porcelain clinked against the redwood as Daphne poured herself another cup of tea. "The Greengrasses have loads of estates we can send you too." She smiled as her elegant fingers clasped the china and she inhaled the black tea with lemon. "Or you could stay with me of course," she winked, setting the cup back down. "Rodolphus could join us too." She smirked, throwing a biscuit at Rosalind and her annoyed expression. 

"Oh come on Rose, lighten up!" she laughed as Rosalind held back her grin. "You are a badass witch and you know it. There is no way those bastards could get to you. Besides," she said plopping a grape into her mouth. "If all else fails we could run away with Ares and raise him together, like lovers."

"Only if I get to be the big spoon," Rosalind toyed.

Daphne scoffed. "I'm bigger, I'm automatically the boss," she said coyly. "I can take care of you better than any man could."

Rosalind laughed in what felt like ages. It had been several days since her conversation with George and he hadn't contacted her. Draco hadn't either, which made work awkward. She quickly realized how lonely she was and how much she emotionally depended on them. As much as she wanted to hang out with Hermione and Ginny, they were busy with their own lives and boyfriends. Daphne was strange in her own right, but Rosalind enjoyed it. Ares was adorable also, always trying to learn Spanish from her. 

"I don’t need a man to take care of me," she laughed throwing the biscuit back at Daphne. "Or woman for that matter. But if I had to chose I'd always chose you."

Daphne smirked, crossing her long leg over the other. She was barefoot, as she always was at home. Ares was out with Grandpa Greengrass and Astoria with one of her many admirers. She snapped her fingers so the house elf would clear the table, leaving them completely alone. "I've never given you a tour, have I?" she dusted off her camisole, grabbing Rosalind's hand and pulling her off the couch. "C'mon, I'll show you around." 

One thing that Rosalind was jealous about England that the Americas didn't have was preservation of family history. The Greengrass mansion had rows upon rows of portraits of generations past, as well as another room solely for family heirlooms. Everything from rings, bracelets, earrings, wedding dresses, to pocket watches, pins, suits, goblets and more, their pride in their family history obvious. 

“This is fascinating,” Rosalind breathed, peering into a family portrait. Two little girls pre-Durmstrang days were shoving each other around for more room in the picture. Young Daphne and Astoria looked exactly the same as children, with less of the arrogance they carried today. 

“Is this little Daphne?” she laughed picking up the picture. “You were so cute.” 

“Did you expect any less of me?” Daphne grinned. “Astoria and I always fought to be in the picture. The girl loves to be told how beautiful she is.” 

“You’re the same way and you know it,” she teased. 

“You’re right. I love it when you tell me that.” She winked, plopping herself onto her giant bed, stretching. “Has the Weasley boy talked to you yet?” 

“Not yet,” Rosalind replied laying down next to her. “I don’t know if I should try to get ahold him or not.” She hadn’t told her the details of what she told George except that she opened up about her past and he didn’t say anything. 

Daphne frowned. “Do yourself a favor and don’t talk to him first. You are a prize and you should not go around asking for his attention.” She pulled Rosalind onto her chest, stroking her hair. “Pity, I loved the way he treated you.” Rosalind was surprised at how well Daphne took the news of her seeing George, she didn’t even bat an eye. “He’s awfully sweet to you, I think you might be too much for him.” 

“How?” Rosalind asked through her hair. “If anything he’s too good for me.” 

Daphne rolled her eyes again, smacking Rosalind hard in the face with her own hair. “Don’t think that way or he’ll start to believe it too.” That’s what she loved about Daphne, she was blunt and honest. “As for Draco he was just being a prat. He’s not used to not having what he wants and he hates that you’re not throwing yourself at him. He was the same way with my sister.” Rosalind’s stomach churned whenever she mentioned Astoria, a feeling she was not used to. “Draco is a man who loves the finer things in life but can’t always reciprocate. He’s not as difficult as he comes off to be, he just needs to learn how to go about it the right way.” 

Rosalind’s eyelids began to droop as Daphne continued playing with her hair. “How’d you get so smart Daph? You always know what to say.” 

Daphne chuckled. “I’m a Greengrass darling, we know everything.” 

***

“Today’s the day!” Harry said to Rosalind cheerfully. “Unforgivable Curses. Are you ready?” 

Rosalind shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

Harry smiled, patting her shoulder. “Good. We need you.” 

Rosalind simpered as they walked into the Auror’s Office, Harry beginning his usual introduction. All eyes shifted to her once he announced the lesson of the day. 

“I’m sure all of you have heard of the Unforgivable Curses,” she began, pacing around the room. “The key to these Curses is a high drive to inflict pain, sometimes for no reason. We could all point our wands at each other and mutter ‘Avada Kedavra’ and nothing would happen because we are not trying to kill one another. It is possible to resist both the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses but it is extremely difficult--Harry here is the only known wizard alive that has successfully resisted all three. Once under the Imperius Curse, you will go into a dreamlike state. Everything will feel slow moving and mellow, making the person under the Curse easier to manipulate.” She stopped pacing, facing the room, resisting the urge to smile awkwardly. “Now who can tell me which one of you is Imperiated at this moment?” 

A pin drop could be heard in the room amongst the silent panicking: no one dared move. What if they were wrong? 

“No one wants to speak up?” she asked, circling the area. “No one wants to take a wild guess? No one feels different, sleepy, like they could be easily swayed?” She stopped next to a group of young members. “Come on, I’m sure someone doesn’t feel like themselves.” 

More uneasy glances, a few mutterings. A couple of people volunteered themselves but no one seemed confident in what was going on. 

“Alright, let’s play a game then.” She was at the head of the room again, standing on a box so everyone could see her. “Simon says. I’m sure everyone knows how to play, right?” The department nodded, most with skeptical faces. “Simon says stand in a straight line.” She smiled as everyone complied. “Simon says jump up and down twice.” She could feel the eyes rolling in her direction, but the room obeyed her command. “Simon says spin around three times, squawk like a chicken, and roll around on the ground.” 

Laughter erupted as Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Lucille, and Percy Weasley began making fools of themselves while the rest of the room stopped. 

“Simon says stop. Now go to the window, stand on the sill, getting ready to jump.” Several people screamed as all four of them listened, dancing their way to the window sills. “Simon says don’t move.” 

Rosalind sighed, calling the attention back to herself. “How many of you honestly knew that they were Imperiused? Can anyone tell me?” 

An arrogant looking young wizard raised his hand. “I could tell as soon as we started playing the game, they didn’t even try to fight it.”

“You think you could?” she sneered, standing square in front of him. “Alright, let’s see it then.” 

The boy almost looked uneasy, glancing at his friends to back him up. “See what?” 

“You in action. Imperiate me, use the Cruciatis Curse on me. And if you’re feeling brave, try the Killing Curse too.” 

Harry gave her an uneasy look from the other side of the room, but she nodded she knew what she was doing.

“What? No, you’re like half my size that wouldn’t be fair.”

Rosalind laughed. “Oh so you feel sorry for me now? Are you saying you can’t do it? We’re wizards, size doesn’t mean anything.” 

“That’s not what I--”

“Then do it.” 

The boy stared at her. “Alright.” He cleared his throat, pointing his wand at Rosalind. _“I-Imperio.”_

Rosalind kept her smile, shaking her head. “Try again.” 

He frowned, concentrating harder. _“Imperio!”_

Not even a spark from his wand. 

“Try the Cruciatus Curse,” she ordered. “Maybe that will be easier for you.” 

“I don’t know--”

“Do it,” she said sternly. “You had all this talk about how it was easy and now you can’t back it up? Don’t disappoint your friends.” 

He glared at her, rolling up his sleeves. “Fine. _Crucio!”_

The room winced, a slight tickle went up Rosalind’s spine. “Nope. Try again. Like you mean it.” 

The boy was now annoyed, frustrated at his lack of magic. _“Crucio!”_

Rosalind sighed. “I’ll give you one last chance. If you don’t get it, I will curse you.” 

His eyebrow quivered and his hand shook, his wand ready to strike. The vein on his temple was pulsing. _“Crucio!”_

Rosalind’s arm twitched, but it wasn’t painful. She tilted her head to the side, sucking in a smile. “Sorry about this. _Crucio!”_

The boy slammed onto the stone floor, his body convulsing. His breathing was constricted, he looked as if he was on the verge of tears. 

“You felt bad for me didn’t you?” she asked calmly, as if they were chatting over tea. “You thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it so you couldn’t do it.” She kneeled to eye level as his convulsing stopped. “Am I right?”

The boy sat up, scooting as fast as he could away from her. “Yes. I-I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“And that’s the problem, you see,” she said to him, helping him up and facing the others again. “You have to _want_ it to happen. Particularly with this curse and the Killing Curse, you have to not only be angry in general, but you have to want to inflict pain. It is very difficult to conduct one of these curses with good intentions--you have to be purely sadistic. Now for the exercise, there will be two lines. You will all have a few minutes to partner up to practice on each other, then will try to Imperiate Harry and use a Cruciatus Curse on me. If you fail, you will be subject to a curse of our own. I know this is difficult for a lot of you, but it’s important that you know what these curses feel like and how to defend yourselves. Because with people like the ones we will be dealing with, the last thing they will feel is pity. They love hurting people, they get off on it. We can’t give them that pleasure.” She looked over at Harry, who nodded at her. “Alright now partner up, you have ten minutes to get ready.” 

Many tense bodies withered around the room, unsure where to start. No one wanted to partner up with their friends because they didn’t want to hurt each other. But like Rosalind reminded them, they couldn’t feel pity for the other person. 

“Nice job,” the Chosen One said to Rosalind as they watched the others attempt to curse each other. “For a second there I almost thought you enjoyed cursing him.” 

“Funny you should say that,” she replied darkly. “Sometimes I used to. I haven’t cursed anyone in a long time though. It’s not the same when they don’t deserve it.” 

“Are you going soft on us already?” he teased, laughing at Ron’s attempt to curse Hermione. Rosalind scowled. “I’m only joking, I know this is hard for you. I really appreciate you doing this with us.” 

Rosalind attempted to smile. “No worries.” She turned her attention to Neville Longbottom, who was sitting alone. He sat in a chair by himself, leaving Seamus without a partner. Rosalind excused herself to talk to him. 

“Hey Neville, are you alright?” she asked concerned. 

His back was facing her; he shrugged his lanky shoulders. “I’ll be alright. It’s just difficult, you know, coming from my background.” 

"What do you mean?" 

"Bellatrix Lestrange tortured my parents with the Cruciatus Curse with her husband Rodolphus to the point of insanity." His voice was frail, his wand twiddling in between his fingers. "They're at St. Mungo's, they have been most of my life. I visit them often but they don't recognize me. They don't know who I am." 

Rosalind’s stomach dropped. “Oh Neville I’m so sorry--you really don’t have to do this if you don't want to--”

“No I do!” he said almost angrily. “I have to do this! I have to show them that I’m strong, that I can do this!” 

Rosalind hesitated, reaching out an arm to comfort him. His bravery made her envious--bravery was one thing she didn’t have. “You are strong, Neville. You’re one of the bravest people here.” She patted his shoulder gently, smiling at him. “I believe that you can do this.” 

Neville looked up into her eyes, almost smiling. “Thank you Rosalind.” 

The shuffling of feet signaled that the ten minutes were up. The oldest and most experienced Aurors were at the front of the lines, ready to give Harry and Rosalind a go. For the most part it was easy on their end; the majority of the curses thrown at them made them feel ticklish rather than in pain. A few Aurors and one officer were able to actually hurt them, like Dawlish. He threw Rosalind on the ground quick with his Cruciatus Curse.

“So sorry Rosalind,” he said giving her a hand. “Didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“It’s fine,” she grunted, annoyed she banged her head. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” She tried her best to smile. “Nice job.” 

The line continued. A few years ago it would’ve been much easier to inflict the curses, but she was having a hard time with the younger recruits or her friends. Hermione was especially difficult to curse--all Rosalind could think about was the scar on her forearm. 

Her favorite ginger now stood in front of her, with an oddly pained expression on his face. George didn’t greet her, nor did he make eye contact with her. Rosalind’s heart hurt--why hadn’t he reached out to her?

“Go for it,” she commanded trying to sound calm. “Let’s see what you got.” 

For a moment George looked into her eyes, trying to read her. But she blocked her mind. She didn’t want to make it easy for him. 

_“Crucio.”_

A shiver went up her arm. “Is that all? I don’t want to hurt you,” she said trying to sound confident. 

George was silent. “Looks like you might have to.” 

Her jaw clenched; this didn’t feel good. She raised her wand slowly. _“Crucio.”_ She whispered it, hoping it would not be as painful. George dropped to the floor, his eyes snapping shut. Rosalind sprinted to his body, forgetting for a second that the pain was temporary. “George I’m sorry!” she began, but as soon as he saw her face he turned away. She sat there a second too long, forgetting about the rest of the line, hurt that he didn’t want to be by her. She bit her tongue, then hurried to the rest of the group. 

She was distracted for the next few people in line but quickly bounced back, becoming nervous again when Neville came around, but his Cruciatus Curse was better than almost everyone else’s, knocking her clearly onto the stone floor. 

Neville dropped his wand, rushing to Rosalind’s side. “So sorry--I didn’t know I could do that--” he stammered, pulling her onto her feet.

Rosalind took his hand, patting him on the back. “That was great Neville! Don’t be sorry at all.” He smiled sheepishly, making his way to Harry’s line. 

Eventually it became Draco’s turn. His sneer was gone, but the arrogance still intact. Their eyes connected and for a brief moment. Rosalind almost thought he would back off. He inhaled sharply, hesitating--

_“Crucio!”_

A twinge of pain shot up Rosalind’s back, but she was able to fight it off, reacting immediately. 

_“Crucio!”_

The curse hit Draco so hard he was unable to catch his breath: he was convulsing on the floor, more than anyone else had all day, appearing as if his limbs were on fire. Rosalind’s heart swelled and sank simultaneously. She raised her wand, ready to strike a second time--

“Rosalind no!” Hermione hissed, jerking her arm away. “Don’t hurt him, he’s your partner!” 

Rosalind grit her teeth and lowered her wand, as someone else helped him on his feet. She stayed annoyed the rest of the lesson, ignoring anyone who tried to strike a conversation with her. At least she was the one who got to hurt him this time. She didn’t want anyone else to hurt her, ever, and the fact that both Draco and George had recently both angered and saddened her. It had been years since she was close to another human being; opening up to someone wasn’t easy. But then again, she deserved it. 

Instead of Apparating, she decided to walk home. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows, elongating her shape and exaggerating her features. Her heels clicked against the cobblestone street, the autumn leaves swirling from the breeze. Rosalind clutched her jacket closer to her chest as she approached Knockturn Alley. The place still gave her the creeps and she always did what she could to avoid it. She sighed as she neared the obnoxiously decorated joke shop in Diagon Alley, almost tempted to go inside, seeing George smiling broadly to a blonde-haired customer. 

_He doesn’t want to see me,_ she thought. _If he wanted to talk to me he would’ve done it by now._

She swallowed a lump in her throat, shrugging off the regret she almost felt for not visiting George. She unlocked her door, shoving her shoes and skirt on the hardwood floor. She pulled her hair out of its bun, laying down in her matted bed. The lump in her throat hadn’t gone--it had intensified. She held her breath, heaving out a pathetic, silent sob, tears slowly streaming down her cheeks. As much as she hated to admit it especially since it had been so long, she had enjoyed using the Cruciatus Curse again. The way Draco convulsed on the floor like that, so powerless...she had missed that. But the guilt afterwards was always immediate. 

_Oh, there you go again. Craving control. You haven’t changed one bit. Still the same heartless bitch you’ve always been._

No, Rosalind shook her head. _I’m not. I’m not heartless._

The voice inside her head laughed. _Stop lying to yourself. You loved hurting Malfoy. You wanted to hurt him._

_I’ve changed. I can change._

_A leopard doesn’t change its spots._

_I used to not be like this--_

_It’s too late to go back_.

The vase on the her shelf shattered as Rosalind slammed her first into it. She screamed into her pillow long enough for her lungs to hurt, tears burning from the corner of her eyes.

“You’re right,” she breathed, staring out her door. “I missed it. I haven’t changed one bit. Maybe that’s why I can't produce a Patronus anymore...”

She snatched her wand, desperately trying to conjure her happiest memory. _“Expecto Patronum!”_

The faintest mist, fading almost instantaneously. 

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, trying again with the same result. 

Nothing.

Her heart came to a standstill. Had she become a Dark Wizard? 

**So this chapter has a little bit of a shift--Rosalind and George’s relationship feels over as well as her friendship with Draco. She’s also feeling conflicted, which could cause problems later on, along with the guilt she has been carrying for years. What do you think of her and Daphne's relationship? I think she's fun to write. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)**

**Next chapter: Duality.**


	24. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You would've made a fine Death Eater."

**Chapter title taken from the Slipknot song.** ****

“Another fire whiskey, Tom,” Rosalind demanded, slamming the glass onto the liquor-soaked counter. The barman gave her a worried look, muttering something about it being too many and handing her another shot. She thrust the alcohol quickly into her throat, enjoying the burning sensation. It was Friday night, and she was spending it alone once again. Daphne was busy with Astoria, Pansy was busy with her family, Ginny was gone for a Quidditch tour, and Hermione was busy with Ron. Harry was always busy and she felt bad asking for him to hang out with her. She did hang out with Neville occasionally, as they were often partners at meetings. He was quite the wizard.

An older man with a crooked nose and decaying canines winked at her as she set down the shot glass. Her stomach lurched; if she had much more to drink she'd throw up. She stumbled up off the bar stool, the liquor rushing to her head. Her eyes rolled back for a second as she regained her mobility, making her way to the ladder for the roof. She swiveled her head to make sure no one followed her, slowly gripping the rungs of the ladder to the top. Her heel caught on the last rung, causing her to spring forward onto the concrete. She cursed herself, rolling onto her back to look at the night sky. 

Her breaths iced over from every exhale, producing small flakes of snow that flew into the wind. She clutched her scarf and coat closer to her chest, shivering from the cold autumn night. It was almost Christmas, evidenced by the explosion of decorations all over Diagon Alley and the rest of London. It explained the annoyingly cheerful mood of most passersby who kept greeting her a happy Christmas and asking what she was doing for the holidays. Nothing of course, she had no friends or family--she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be invited anywhere either.

"At least the sky looks beautiful," she whispered to herself. The clouds were asleep and the moon was beginning to peek behind its own shadow, giving glimpses of light--almost a full moon. 

A rustling coming from the ladder caused Rosalind to jump. She had her wand at waist level, in case she had to hex someone at the knees. A tall, broad shadow emerged and a pale Draco stood before her face.

She stared at him a long second before speaking. "What're you doing here?" she asked trying hard not to slur her words.

"I was looking for you," he said quietly. "You're not that hard to track down." 

Rosalind scowled. "Whahyou want?"

"I just wanted to--Merlin, Rosalind are you drunk?" he asked as she stumbled again, tossing her shoes to the side. "Don't do that you're going to get frostbite."

"Drunk?" she laughed, still scowling. "Of course I'm drunk, and you're an asssssshooolllee," she pointed her skeletal fingers to his face.

"You're going to fall over--" he caught her before she fell, forcing her to sit cross legged onto the cold cement. She tried to fight him off as Draco shuffled through his coat pocket for a potion. "Take this. It'll warm you up and make you feel better."

"I'm not gonna take anything you give me--"

"That wasn't a question," he said sternly. "Take it." Her forced her mouth open, slipping the potion down her throat. Her body warmed up immediately, the heaviness in her head gone, and her lips no longer numb. 

Rosalind gagged, held her breath and coughed, giving him a quizzical look. "What the hell was that? Did you just sober me up?" 

"I did," he replied tucking the potion back into his pocket. "I like to talk to you consciously." 

She wiped her mouth, giving him a glare. "I was enjoying my drunken state thank you very much." She crossed her arms waiting for him to speak. "What do you want Malfoy?"

Draco sighed, taking a seat next to her. His face was low as well as his eyes. "I came here to apologize." 

"For what, being a prick?"

He face flickered. "Yes for everything,” he began in a low voice. “You don't deserve the way I've treated you." 

Rosalind's arms were still crossed. "Go on."

Draco cleared his throat, his eyes grazing the snowy roof. “This is difficult for me first off--" he hesitated as Rosalind remained still. "--but these last couple of weeks that we’ve had without speaking to each other have been very odd.” Rosalind raised her eyebrow as he stammered on. “I mean that I didn’t realize how much I talk to you and how much I rely on you. You’re more than my partner...you’re also my friend. You’ve become my support system and the person I turn to when I’m having a long day.” His jaw clenched as he saw Rosalind unmoved. “Besides my family you’re all I’ve got. And I’m sorry for being an arse. I was just jealous that Weaselbee has you for himself and I shouldn’t have been angry with you for seeing him.” He kicked a pebble over the rooftop, waiting for her reaction. “I hope you forgive me.” 

She eyed him for a moment, enjoying how uncomfortable he looked. He couldn’t maintain eye contact with her. She smiled, amused to how awkward he was acting. “Of course I forgive you Draco. That’s all I wanted to hear.” 

Draco smiled, extending his arms out to hug his partner but restrained himself, instead scratching his head. “Sorry, don’t want your boyfriend to get upset you’re on good terms with me again.” 

Rosalind’s eyes darted to the floor. “I don't know what’s going on with him to be honest,” she said quietly. “He stopped talking to me the same day you did so it’s been a lonely few weeks. I opened up about my past and I think I freaked him out.” She held her arm awkwardly at her side, suddenly realizing how cold her toes were. “It doesn’t appear we’re seeing each other anymore.” 

Draco’s pale eyes finally looked into hers. “I always knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth about you. Not like I did." She scowled, annoyed he was right. “I understand you, you know.” It wasn’t a romantic statement, it was a fact. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He smirked as Rosalind began to smile. “We work well together. I don’t want to ruin that.” 

Rosalind arms were still crossed and her face in a scowl, but she couldn’t help slip out on a small grin. “I guess you’re right. Doesn’t mean I’m not still sad about George though.” 

“Well,” Draco said as he shuffled through his robe pockets. “I have something that might cheer you up.” He pulled out a handsome sheet of parchment with elegant writing. “It’s the annual Christmas Ball. The most influential and wealthy families are usually in attendance, and they’re not all Purebloods. The location changes every year and this year my family is hosting again.” He handed her the invitation, which she examined carefully. 

“You and I both know I’m neither wealthy or influential.” 

“No but you are still invited,” he urged. “It’s tomorrow evening. Be my date?” 

She eyed him surprised. “Really? You don’t wanna go with Astoria?”

“No I don’t, and she likes to go to these things alone anyways,” he said matter of factly. “So do you want to go with me or not?” 

Rosalind read through the invitation but still hesitated. She missed George. But there was nothing she could do about what he had learned about her now. “I guess I can squeeze you in.” 

Draco smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s a charity event so don’t forget to bring a donation, and a small gift for an exchange.” He stood up, pulling Rosalind’s gangly arms to help her on her feet. “Thanks for letting me talk to you and not hexing me,” he said in a low voice. “It means a lot to me.” 

“Don’t mention it,” she said brightly, her cheeks feeling stiff from going so long without smiling. 

Draco nodded, taking his cue to leave, said his goodbyes and disappeared into the distance. 

***

The emerald green dress that Narcissa gave her lay on her bed, along with her emerald pendant and an elegant pair of heels. Rosalind stood in front of her vanity, her hair drooping past her shoulders as she finished her makeup: dramatic mascara and subtle copper eyeliner and eye shadow that made her large eyes pop. The dress clung on to her body almost magically, accentuating her long toned legs and bronze skin. She almost didn't recognize herself.

"Here goes nothing," she sighed before holding her breath. She Apparated in the front garden of Malfoy Manor, where an anxious Draco was sitting on a stone bench with his hands in his pockets. His pale hair was parted back, and he was wearing fitted slacks, a button up shirt and a grey vest that matched his eyes. His face lit up for a fraction of a moment when he first saw her before returning to its normal arrogance. 

"You're right on time," he said offering his arm. "You ready?" 

"As ready as you are," she replied hooking her arm into his. He smirked as they walked into the tall wooden doors inside the Manor. "Sometimes I forget how well you clean up."

"You look alright yourself," he grinned. 

A wave of classical music hit their bodies as they entered the Manor. Christmas decorations were floating throughout the halls, imitation pixies sprinkling dust on their heads, the scent of pine wafting their noses. A twenty-foot tall tree was at the center of the room, illuminating the mansion with its shimmering decorations. Gold light erupted from the star at the top, giving the usual bleak room a touch of Christmas cheer. 

The Manor was already quite packed; they had to maneuver their way around the various guests and house elves to reach Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Narcissa was glowing, and Lucius looked less sour than usual. She smiled brightly once she spotted her son with Rosalind, bringing them both into tight hugs.

"Oh darling you look beautiful!" she said ignoring her son. "I knew that color would look lovely on you." She moved a stray hair from Rosalind's face before turning to Draco. "You two make a handsome pair I might add." Rosalind smiled as Draco half frowned. She took the gifts Rosalind had for the charity and gift exchange, Banishing them under the Christmas tree. 

"Thank you Narcissa, it's great to see you," Rosalind answered politely. "And thank you again for the dress. I love it." She greeted the head Malfoy before her and Draco made their way to the rest of the guests. 

"Purebloods sure love to throw parties don't they?" she asked as she grabbed a glass of champagne, downing it in a second. 

"Of course we do, what else are we going to do with all our money?" Draco laughed as he downed a shot of whiskey. 

Rosalind rolled her eyes as she looked around for familiar faces. Like the Pureblood Elite party, there seemed to be no Death Eaters around besides their family members. Draco pointed out the other wealthy individuals, including some half-bloods and Muggleborns. They all had one thing in common besides money--they all looked the same. The guests were much friendlier to her this time around, making small talk. It wasn't until much later that she was finally able to see her friends among the crowd.

"Hello gorgeous," Daphne said greeting them both with a kiss on the cheek. "I knew that dress would look amazing on you," she said as Pansy and later Blaise came their way. "Draco's one lucky bastard isn't he?" she winked as Draco looked slightly annoyed. "You better take care of her, I don't want to have to come after you for being an arse." Her teardrop diamond earrings swayed as she spoke, highlighting her feminine features. She looked directly into Rosalind's eyes, passing a message: _Rodolphus wants to talk to you._ _He has something you'll find useful._ Rosalind shot her a quizzical expression, but Daphne reassured her that it was safe. _He's in the back corner of the garden. Don't worry, you'll be fine._   
  
Rosalind quickly grabbed a shot of whiskey, shaking her head from the strong liquor and made her way towards the backyard. "I'll be right back, just going to the bathroom," she said as Draco questioned her. She shook her shoulders to get rid of the nerves, stepping out to the cold yard. She blasted a path with her wand through the snow as to not wet her feet, following what looked like a man's tracks. At the back corner next to the fountain stood Rodolphus Lestrange, dressed to the nines in his best suit. He almost looked handsome. 

"Well well well, look who showed up." His voice was husky and unwelcoming. "You look great love, but I'm sure you've been hearing that all night." He licked his lips as Rosalind's stomach churned. 

"What do you want? Daphne said you wanted to talk to me." 

"Have a seat." He blasted the snow off the fountain for them to sit, taking her hand. "Oh but turn around for me first, I want to see a full view." He twirled her body before she could stop him.

"What is it, Rodolphus?" she asked impatiently. "Are you even supposed to be here?"

"Does it matter?" he answered angrily. "Let a man observe a woman for fuck's sake." 

Rosalind grit her teeth, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "Alright then." 

Rodolphus grinned, pulling out a large cigar and lighting it, a puff of smoke circling their heads. "That’s a good girl." He observed her as he smoked, amused by how hard she was trying to remain calm. "You are one feisty piece of work, you know that?" He tapped the cigar, the ashes cindering the snow. "I love that about you." He put out his cigar, throwing the butt into the fountain. "Where'd you say you're from? I know you're a Yank, but where are your ancestors from?"

"El Salvador, why?" she replied cautiously. 

"Ah, I knew that sounded familiar." He grinned again, scooting closer to her. "Daphne mentioned the other day about you being from there and I remembered something from when I was in Azkaban." He straightened his coat, stalling, loving how impatient Rosalind was. "Before that mass breakout we had visitors. They were from the same place you were." 

"What?" she exclaimed. "What did they say?" 

"They offered us a deal," he said casually. "They knew who were were, knew what we did. They wanted us to help them if they broke us out. Something about helping a similar cause."

"So you said yes? That's how you got out?" 

"No. Some of the other Death Eaters weren't happy about it. Some of them are Muggles, not even Muggleborn but actual Muggles, working with wizards. They did the dirty work while the wizards did the important jobs. They even recruited werewolves, which is beneath us. We don't work with Muggles and we damn well won't work with werewolves either." 

"So you turned them down?" she asked confused. "Then how did the breakout happen?”

"C'mon, you work the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm sure you can put it together," he smirked. "We agreed to it then decided not to help them. We just wanted out. However someone didn't tell Lucius that and the bloody git stayed inside while the rest of us fled. Fucking coward thought they'd kill him so he decided he wanted to help the Ministry instead." He shook his head, annoyed. "But it worked for him bloody well didn’t it? He's got his life back while the rest of us are on the run." He grunted, spiting into the snow. 

Rosalind stared at him in disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Rodolphus inhaled another puff of smoke. “Took me a bit to put two and two together. It wasn’t until you and Daphne started seeing each other more that she mentioned that’s where you from.” He blew a large cloud of smoke. “Is that where you killed all those people?” he asked casually. 

“What are you talking about?” she replied through her teeth. 

The Death Eater chuckled. “I don’t know why you try to act so innocent. You and I both know that it is not easy for anyone who hasn’t killed to perform a Cruciatus Curse as well as you can.” 

Rosalind eyed him. “That’s where I learned everything,” she replied slowly. 

“Figured.” He took another long puff, examining her closely. “You would’ve made a fine Death Eater a few years ago. Shame you weren’t here.” 

“I’m not an elitist,” she retorted. “I never killed someone who didn’t deserve it.” 

“Oh yeah?” he laughed again. “Does that make you some type of hero or just as bad as them?” 

Rosalind’s chest panted but she ignored it. “I’m not a bad person,” she said in a low voice. “I never tortured someone to the point of insanity.” 

“Touché,” he grinned. “Those were orders, that’s all. I hardly did anything anyways, that was mostly Bella.” He coughed, wiping ashes off his greasy mouth. “She would’ve liked you. I’m sure you two would’ve made a great pair.” He winked, Rosalind’s stomach lurching again. “Too bad she got killed by a fucking blood traitor.” 

“Molly Weasley is one of the most kind-hearted people I know,” she shot back, trying to hide the sting she felt from his voice. “And as far as I’m aware your ex wife deserved what she got.” 

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. “There you go again acting like you’re better than she was.” 

Sparks flew from Rosalind’s wand. “What do you want, Rodolphus? Did you really drag me all the way out here just to compare me to your dead and deranged wife or do you have something fucking useful to say?” 

The Death Eater took another long, slow puff of smoke, making sure to blow it into her face. “I want immunity with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” 

“Immunity for what?” 

“My Death Eater crimes,” he said simply. “I want my life back.” 

“You’re making it sound like you’re not a Death Eater anymore,” she said cautiously. 

Rodolphus shrugged. “The Dark Lord’s gone. Guess I’m not. No leader so there’s nothing to follow.” He stretched, rolling out a kink in his neck. “I don’t mind being around Mudbloods or half-bloods.” He laughed seeing Rosalind’s expression. “Right, it’s not politically correct to say that now. It’s all about _integration,”_ he said sarcastically. He sighed, dusting ashes from his coat. “So. Are you going to help me?” 

Rosalind frowned, eyeing the man suspiciously. “You can’t get immunity with little to no information. You’d be useless,” she said harshly. 

Rodolphus raised his brow. “I have more information to give. Can’t give it away all at once. Come on,” he droned, caressing Rosalind’s thigh. “Do me this favor.”

She shoved his hand away, standing on her feet. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he said with another lick of his lips. 

Rosalind’s heart thudded against her chest, her breathing becoming hoarse from the cold air. “I don’t think the Ministry will want to work with you.”

“The Ministry has done stranger things. Like employing Draco Malfoy.”

She resisted a chuckle, eyeing the crazed man before her. “Give me some time to think about it. But if you’re trying to do something shady I’ll find out.” 

He grinned, bowing his head before putting out his cigar. “There’s a good girl.” She shuddered, walking as briskly as she could back inside the Manor. 

“What took you so long?” an already buzzed Draco demanded. Rosalind shrugged, mentioning that she got caught up talking to someone else she knew. Draco raised his brow, not buying it. "If you don't want to be here you can leave." His voice was almost pained.

Rosalind laughed nervously, surprised at his tone. "But I want to be here Draco," she said touching his hand gently. "With you." 

A lopsided grin formed on his face. "Damn right you do." Rosalind smiled as he poured himself more alcohol. Daphne and Pansy pulled her to the dance floor as the music became more lively. Her cheeks hurt from laughing; it felt as if she hadn't had fun in ages. Ares made an appearance, and Rosalind danced away with the little man as well. She felt much more welcomed, being introduced to other witches and wizards more her age rather than the old fussy ones. For once she didn't feel like an outsider when people asked her where she was from. She was enjoying herself, making connections and having fun. 

Towards the end of the night the gift exchange began. Rosalind's recipient was a Hogwarts alumni that was a few years older than her. He was one of Blaise's coworkers at Gringotts, a tall Frenchman that had transferred from Beaxbatons. He greeted her with a kiss on the hand, his bright green eyes peering into hers. "Ah, so you're the American everyone's been talking about," he said in perfect English.

Rosalind blushed. "What do you mean?" 

The Frenchman shrugged, adjusting the handsome watch on his wrist. "Muggleborns and half-bloods come and go but it's not often that a foreign Pureblood moves into town. It doesn't go unnoticed." 

She nodded, slightly annoyed that she wasn't invisible like she thought she was. "I've been hearing a lot of that lately." 

He smiled. "Don't worry. It's a good thing." He produced a small velvet box from his pocket, as Rosalind handed him a much larger one. He laughed as he saw what it was: a replica of the last Quidditch World Cup pitch that was held in France, complete with the French players flying around against the Italians.

"I heard you're a big Quidditch fan," she said hoping it wasn't too much. 

"Excellent," he said as he motioned for a bronzed man to join them. "Wouldn't this look great in our flat Antonio? It's even got our teams against each other." 

The Italian grinned as he examined the details of the pitch. "Wonderful. Maybe then you'll realize that Italy has the better team," he winked.

"Oh stop it, we both know that France has dominated for years," he replied with a sarcastic eye roll. 

They stared at each other coyly, then shifted their attention to Rosalind. "Has she opened it yet?" asked the Italian. "I'm sure she's going to love it."

"I almost forgot.” She opened the box to find an elegant pair of emerald earrings, sparkling in the candle light. "Wow, these are gorgeous," she breathed. "Thank you, this is very nice of you."

"Don't mention it," answered the Frenchman. "We noticed that you had that darling emerald pendant at the last party but nothing else to go with it. It was so tragic, Antonio and I made sure to find the perfect pair of earrings to compliment it." He picked up a glass of champagne from a nearby house elf, sipping it daintily. "Make sure to wear those next time we're around." He winked, and the couple departed together into one of the other rooms. 

Rosalind made her way into the extravagant bathroom, trying on her new earrings. She almost felt guilty putting them on--she was sure they were worth more than she was. But they were beautiful, and she liked how they looked on her. She spotted Ares by the giant Christmas tree, playing with his new toy broom, dragging his toes on the floor. She had never thought about having kids, but if she did she hoped they were as adorable as he was. 

A hand slithered down her back, lowering itself into her hand. "You ready for your present?" a slightly sobered Draco asked her. 

"You got me something?" she asked as he pulled her into the library. "I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't want you to." He closed the tall oak doors behind them, leaving them engulfed in the moonlight peeking through the windows. He pulled out a slender box, handing it to her gingerly. "I wanted to surprise you." 

Rosalind took it hesitantly, opening the box slowly: a rose gold charm bracelet tinkered as she held it up to the light, displaying its tiny charms; including a watch, a heart that beat the same rhythm as her own, the Eiffel Tower, Coliseum, and other international landmarks that functioned as Portkeys if needed, a book charm that could carry several books at a time inside it, binoculars that enlarged true to size, and a bell that also functioned as an alarm. Rosalind stared at Draco, who was giving her an odd, uncomfortable look. 

"You don't like it," he said flatly. "I knew it was too much--"

"Draco stop. I love it." She set it back into its box gently, embracing him into a hug. "You didn't have to do that." 

"I wanted to," he said avoiding her eyes. "It's the least I could do for everything you've done for me." His voice was still stiff. "Thank you...for not giving up on me like everyone else has and for accepting me as who I am." 

Rosalind smiled, lifting his chin up so he would see her. "You're a lot better person than people give you credit for. I've always known that. You’re proof that people can change." She moved a strand of platinum locks from his face. "I hope someday you'll see that too." 

His pale eyes finally smiled. He opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head still smiling. "You're not so bad either you know." 

"I've been trying to tell myself that," she admitted. 

Draco sat in a large chair, pulling Rosalind onto his lap. They stared at each other in comfortable silence, their hearts beating closely together. He caressed the edges of her face with his thumb, giving her an awed look. "You do something to me that I've never felt before," he said quietly. 

"I like it when you compliment me when you're sober," she said with a laugh. 

He grinned, looking hesitant. "To be honest I'm glad that you're not with Weasley anymore. I was hoping he'd stop talking to you. Is that bad?" 

Rosalind's smile flickered. In a strange way she was okay with it too although she still missed George. "No," she finally said. "It's not." 

Draco examined her, seeing the glimpse of sadness etched on her face. "Why do you miss him?"

"I don't," she said in a soft voice.

"Bullshit." 

She sighed, still on his lap. "He was the first person I was ever with that was consistently nice to me." It felt odd saying the words out loud. "I've never been with someone who genuinely cared about what I had to say." 

"He's not the only person that will treat you like that," he said softly. "I'm sure even Rodolphus wouldn't treat you so bad either," he added with a laugh.

Rosalind punched him in the arm. "Fuck you, he's an asshole." 

"I'm kidding!" he said as he rubbed his arm. "Is that who you went to go talk to?" 

"How'd you know?"

"This is my house. I know everything that goes on." 

"Oh right," she replied. "He claims to have information that will help us at the Ministry. He wants immunity so he can have his life back he said."

Draco raised his brow. "Do you reckon he actually knows something?"

Rosalind shrugged. "I'm not sure honestly. I think he's just tired of being on the run." She dozed off out the window, still bothered by what Rodolphus said to her. 

"What's wrong?" Draco asked. "Did he do something to you again?"

She paused, shaking her head. "No he just--he keeps bringing up his dead wife when he talks to me and I don't know why."

"Aunt Bella? What does he say?" 

"He says I'm a lot like her." She was still gazing out the window. "But Neville told me she and Rodolphus were the people who tortured his parents to insanity so that doesn’t feel like a compliment." 

Draco pursed his lips. "She wasn't always terrible. She was incredibly ambitious and ruthless when she was upset. We don't talk about her much anymore as a family."

Rosalind huffed."That definitely makes me feel worse.” 

Draco’s jaw tightened before he let out a sigh. “You reckon he can actually help us?”  
  
“Yes but I only trust him as far as I can throw him.” 

She sighed as Draco pulled her closer to his chest. “Let’s forget about him for the rest of the night. I’m enjoying this.” 

She glanced up at him, finally smiling, her skin pulsing with electricity from the touch of his hand. "I’m enjoying this too." 

He smiled, placing his lips on her forehead without kissing her. "Don't mention it." He held her in silence, while their hearts beat in sync, and the snow patterned outside the window, signaling the arrival of Christmas. 

**Now that Draco and Rosalind have made up, their relationship/partnership is a bit different. The next chapter will be in Emma's point of view, since she is coming home for Christmas. Thank you so much to those that have been reading!** ****

**Next chapter: Dead Memories.**


	25. Dead Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who's to say I'm not next?"

**Chapter title taken from the Slipknot song.**

**This chapter is in Emma's point of view, before she leaves Hogwarts for Christmas break to see Rosalind.**

My sister and I look alike but could’t be more different. She’s got the darker skin and curly hair, while I got rounder, blacker eyes, our mother’s smoother complexion, and jet black straight hair. While she’s fearless, I am more anxious. 

We come from a long line of Purebloods but we lived among Muggles, which by American standards wasn’t unusual. Our upbringing was different since we lived around Muggles. None of them knew we were wizards so we didn't use much magic around the house much. Rosalind has been doing magic for as long as I can remember since she's so much older than me but I took a lot longer. I remember her being worried that I might be a Squib, but I finally showed signs of magic once we moved to London. We were at a restaurant and I blew all the lights up and she had to Apparate us out so we wouldn't get in trouble. At least that's what she told me, but I remember I was asleep before that and soon after. But if she says that's what happened then I believe her.

I'm in my second year at Hogwarts and got Sorted into Gryffindor, also known as the House of the Brave. Funny thing is I don't think I'm brave at all, I've never done a heroic thing in my life. If anyone is fearless it's my sister, I'm sure she would be a Gryffindor too. She moved the both of us out here by herself so I know she's brave. But for some reason she doesn't seem to think so.

"Oy! Watch it second year!" an older boy bumped into me and my potions book fell on the ground as one of the girls he was with cracked the cover with her boot. 

"Sorry," I grumbled as my face flushed. Class had just ended so the corridors flooded with students, several stomping on my textbook. 

"Isn't that the American who's parents died in a fire?" the same boy asked the girl.

"Whose Pureblood parents die in a Muggle fire? Did they forget to use magic?" she sneered, causing my cheeks to burn. She grinned at me and I wanted more than anything to hex her stupid face, but I couldn't help the tears coming out of my eyes. I picked up my potions book and headed towards the tower for charms, dreading for my last class to be over. I didn't even pay attention to what Professor Flitwick was saying, I just wanted to get to the library and stop crying. I don't even know how people found that out--or why they even cared. 

"Today class we will be studying Memory Charms," the little man began. He was standing on a tall pile of books so we could all see him, his squeaky voice barely audible. "I will give you fifteen minutes to read chapter eight, and then you will partner up to perform Memory Charms on each other."

The know-it-all Ravenclaw shot her hand up in the air. "But Professor, isn't that dangerous?"

The tiny man giggled. "Quite the opposite, dear girl, as second years are not likely to cause much damage to each other more than a slight dizziness." The girl scowled, and the professor instructed us to begin our reading. 

_Memory Charms, first becoming in use in the late 13th century have been in use with much scrutiny. Whilst legal, the Ministry of Magic warns against overuse of the Charm; prolonged effects can lead to memory fog, confusion and longer recall for information. When in receipt of a Memory Charm, the receiver will go in a dream-like state for a moment before forgetting the previous events. The most powerful Memory Charms are performed at the front of the head, in order to alter the memory most effectively. Faulty Memory Charms can leave faint scars, particularly on the chest and back when performed in a hurry. Memories can also be altered and replaced via the False Memory Charm._

Strange, I thought. I have little scars from a lot of fights I've had with Rosalind. She's a lot stronger than me so I always thought that they were from messing around. I would fall asleep a lot of the time though and I can never remember why. Everything with her seems like a blur for the most part. 

Professor Flitwick asked us to partner up, and I ended up with Anson Smith, a fellow Gryffindor. We've never talked before but I don't talk to many people. I like keeping to myself. 

"You ready?" Anson asked as he drew his wand. I nodded, implying I was going first. I held my breath as he raised his wand to my temple. _"Obliviate."_

My eyes rolled back, and my world turned black as my body slammed onto the stone floor. 

***

"...is not common unless she has had several Memory Charms performed on her. We'll have to get in contact with her parents to see what has been going on." I could hear Madam Pomfrey's worried voice in the hospital wing. My head was pounding. I felt like Anson hit me in the head with a bludger. 

"Her parents are no longer around," Professor Flitwick's hushed voice chimed in. "They perished in a fire a few years back before her sister moved them to London."

I could hear the shock in Madam Pomfrey's voice. "That poor thing! All that trauma she has already experienced at such a young age--that could explain why she fainted from the charm." 

The professor sighed. "Perhaps. She's a bright student and has never had this happen before. I'll alert McGonagall." His little feet shuffled across the floor, and I quickly shut my eyes as Madam Pomfrey came to check on me.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked in a motherly voice. "Take some more tonic, it'll ease the pain."

I tried my best to smile. "Thank you. Am I okay to leave? What happened to me?" 

The madam smiled at me kindly. "Nothing to worry about sweetheart, maybe it's not your day. You'll feel better in no time."

I nodded, disappointed that she didn't tell me the truth. "Professor McGonagall isn't gonna have to talk to my sister is she?" 

"I'm not sure but if she does then one of your professors will let you know." She gave me that same look Rosalind gives me--like she felt bad for me and wasn't telling me the whole truth. I gave her my best fake smile, grabbed my book bag and trekked to the Great Hall for dinner. 

I could feel the whispers before I heard them: I'm the Pureblood girl with no parents who somehow died in a fire, and today I passed out in class from a mere Memory Charm. Instead of feeling bad for me people make fun of me for it and I don't know which is worse. They both make me feel terrible. I don't get it either--I know my parents were great wizards, so it just doesn't make sense. Rosalind never entirely answers me either, she always says I'm too young to understand. But I'm almost thirteen. I'm not a baby anymore. 

I sat down quietly at the Gryffindor table at my usual spot closest to the door. Alice Mulligan came shortly after, she's one of the only people who talks to me. She's weird and dorky like I am and nice. She's a Muggleborn so her parents don't understand anything that goes on at Hogwarts. 

"Hi Emmy, you doing alright?" she asked as she chomped on a turkey leg. "Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me visit you in the hospital wing." 

"Yeah I'm okay," I said stirring my pot roast. "Her and Professor Flitwick wouldn't tell me the whole story though, I don't know why. They tried to make it not sound as bad as it was." 

Alice chewed her leg carefully, eyeing me with her big blue eyes. Her freckled cheeks could barely swallow the food. "They think we're thick because we're second years." She stopped for a breath of air. "Are you any closer to finding out what really happened to your parents?" 

I shook my head. "Not really. I was finally able to track down the police report from back home but it's not in yet. The Muggle newspapers didn't say anything except what I already knew but hopefully the police report will be different." I took a bite of roast, ignoring the sinking feeling in my gut. 

"You're scared aren't you?" Alice said faintly as I nodded. "Why don't you think your sister will tell you what happened?"

I shrugged. "I don't know really...I think she thinks it's somehow her fault. Madam Pomfrey said she might have to come and talk with McGonagall"

"About what?"

"Probably about what actually happened to me instead of what she told me," I said grudgingly. I hate it when people think I don't know what's going on. 

Alice finished her turkey leg then pointed her head towards the doors. "Is that her?" 

I turned around, seeing my sister's face looking around the Great Hall for mine. A lot of the sixth and seventh years were ogling her since she looked so out of place in her work clothes, her badge from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement hanging around her neck. She's so pretty but she doesn't know it. I've never been jealous of how pretty she is--I've always been jealous of her fearlessness. 

"Hey sissy, how are you?" she asked me once she spotted me. The fifth year sitting by us immediately scooted over to make room for her before she could even say anything. "I just talked to McGonagall." 

"I'm fine," I said with a dramatic sigh. "I don't know why she had you come all the way over here." 

"Because you're my sister, I have to make sure you're okay," she said pinching my cheek. 

I glared at her. "What did she tell you?"

Her eyes shifted to the right, like they always did when she was about to lie. "Nothing really, she was just making sure that's never happened to you before mostly." 

"What'd you tell her?" 

"You used to pass out all the time when you were little," she said grabbing one of my biscuits. "Usually when you were really upset but not like that."

"So that's all? She dragged you here for that? She could've written you a letter," I said taking the rest of the biscuit from her mouth.

She frowned, taking a bite of my pot roast. "She always asks me a bunch of questions in general, it's pretty annoying. It's like she doesn't trust me."

"Gee, doesn't that sound familiar," I said sarcastically. 

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Right your life must be so terrible." She punched me in the arm. "Life gets better I promise." 

"Sure." I went for a slice of pumpkin pie before she beat me to it. "How long are you staying?" 

"Only for a bit, we have a lot going on at work. Why, do you miss me?" she laughed, bringing more attention to herself. 

"No I hate you," I grinned as she smacked me on the head. "Are we still going to your friend's house for Christmas?"

She swallowed some roast, a flicker of sadness crossing her eyes. She was going to lie to me again. "I'm not sure, I haven't talked to him about it since he mentioned it. If not then we'll probably end up at my co-worker's place. But we'll have an actual Christmas this year I promise." She patted me on the knee, giving me that guilty look again. She always looked so sad talking to me. The fifth year boys were walking by our table, smirking behind their hands as they talked to each other. "What are you looking at?" she asked annoyed, standing up to leave. She gave me one last sympathetic look. "I'll see you in about a week, right? You're finally coming home."

_This isn't home,_ I thought. "Yeah I'll be there." 

She smiled at me, longer than she normally would. "I love you. Don't do anything dumb."

"All I do are dumb things," I laughed, as she gave me one last hug goodbye. 

***

The package came by owl post the last day before Christmas Break. It was larger than I thought, and the text was small and blocky:

_Incident/Investigation Report_

_11/15/2001 Officer D. Morgan_

_Victim #1: Xavier Morana, Hispanic male, 47 years old_

_Victim #2: Esmeralda Morana, Hispanic female, 43 years old_

_Victim #3: Rosalind Morana, Hispanic female, 21 years old_

_Victim #4: Emma Morana, Hispanic female, 9 years old_

_Other Persons Involved:_

_Two unidentified males, heavily tattooed; one with a wand, other may be a Muggle. Possible gang members. A second wand was found burnt to ashes. Impossible to identify both wands._

_Narrative:_

_On 11/15/2001 around 0325, several calls came to the station about a house fire. Investigation showed clear signs of forced entry and at least four deceased in the home. Confirmed identities of Victims #1 and #2, death likely via Killing Curse with post-mortem mutilation. Unidentified victims death likely via strangulation with signs of fire damage to neck and blunt force trauma to the head. Wands too damaged to run analysis of last spells used. Records show Victims #3 and #4 reside at the home but nowhere to be found. Presumed dead or kidnapped, due to the identification of the gang tattoos on unnamed victims. No confirmed ties to gang activity._

_Conclusion:_

_Most likely home invasion, possible assassination attempt._

_Supplemental Notes:_

_Victim #3 has since disappeared. Wand tracing has proved fruitless; last location via wand traced to home. Victim #3 is either deceased, kidnapped, or fled. Victim #4 never found._

My heart sunk like a stone into my stomach. This is what Rosalind didn't want me to find out--our parents didn't just die, they were murdered. But why did they think Rosalind could have been dead or kidnapped? 

My hands shook as I sat on my four-poster bed. What did those people want? Did they know my sister? And what happened to those men if our parents were already dead? My chest heaved as I tried hard not to cry. I rubbed my head, feeling foggy like I normally did when I was upset. I've always felt anxious around Rosalind when I'm upset for some reason, like I can't trust my own thoughts. She always acted funny whenever I get upset. But she has never hurt me. All my memories have been strangely dreamlike before we moved to London. My nightmares are the most vivid memories I have, of being scared of my sister, of being alone in the woods, of stealing food so we wouldn't starve. Unless--

Of course. The Memory Charms. The book in class even said it, it described all my symptoms. This explains everything: why I can't remember anything bad happening to me, why all my memories don't seem to fit with Rosalind's, why she always has her wand drawn when we're arguing. She must have been using Memory Charms on me for years so I wouldn't remember how our parents died. But that can't be it...She would've told me that. She wouldn't do that to me...

I sat by the door, staring blankly out my window. A third year girl was being pushed around by some older boys, who were annoyed she was fighting back. I rubbed my head again, itching with dejavu that I couldn't quite understand:

A lasso of fire came from her wand, strangling the man. He gasped for air, choking--she jerked her wand upwards, so the man's body hung from the ceiling, his broken neck burning from the magical noose. She smiled, pleased with her work. The second man ran for her but she heard him, tackling him to the ground.

_"Crucio!"_ she screamed as his body writhed in pain. He spat curses at her but nothing, he must have been the Muggle. Another Cruciatus Curse, only stronger--the pain was almost unbearable for him. She climbed on top of the second man, throwing her wand away and pounding his face with her fists, breaking his nose, his blood spurting all over her. A final blow to the head and a noose of fire later, and he was dead too.

She turned around, blood on her hands, with a half amused look on her face. She was almost relaxed, or relieved. She looked right at me, having no idea I was there: the regret in her eyes was immediate, and I ran into the bathroom before she could hurt me too.

"No," I cried, forcing myself out of my memories. "That didn't happen that was just a dream--"

But I couldn't avoid it anymore. I watched my sister kill two men right before my eyes, with their blood on her hands. She got our parents killed, and messed with my memory to cover it up. 

Who's to say I'm not next? 

**Dun dun dun! The cat's (almost) out of the bag and it's not going to be pretty! How'd you guys like Emma? She's a lot smarter than people give her credit for, that's for sure. Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter is going to have much more going on, promise :)**

**Next chapter: And Love Said No.**


	26. And Love Said No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could never forget about you."

**Chapter title taken from the HIM song.**

**“I could never forget about you.”**

**Pretty intense chapter up ahead! I want to say thank you so much to those who are still reading :)**

_Someday she'll find out. Then what are you going to do?_

Rosalind shook her head, as if movement could shake away her thoughts. Professor McGonnagal called her in to ask about Emma who had a fainting episode during charms. She specifically asked if she has had that happen to her involving a Memory Charm, to which Rosalind replied that Emma used to pass out from stress.

_Of course you lied. Anything to save yourself._

"Go away," she muttered out loud, startling the older gentleman in the lift. She had returned to work to talk to Harry and Bowen at the Auror's Office, having mentioned that she knew someone who might have information. They were sitting in Harry's office, Bowen smoking a cigar and Harry sitting on the edge of his desk. They smiled at her, waving her into the room.

"So you mentioned you have someone that could be useful to this werewolf and foreigner thug case?" Bowen asked within a puff of smoke. "Who is it?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange," she said simply, taking the seat directly in front of Harry. "I talked to him the other night."

The two men nearly chocked on their saliva. "The same Rodolphus Lestrange who threatened you at the Azkaban breakout? Who tortured Neville's parents?" 

Rosalind nodded. "That's the one."

"How in the hell did you get in contact with him?" he asked almost stung. "He's a wanted Death Eater."

"Former Death Eater, he assured me," she said nervously. "He gave me details of how they broke out of Azkaban." 

Bowen's brow raised. "Continue."

"They were being recruited. They had visitors in and out of Azkaban that had heard of the Death Eaters and they were trying to plot with them for a mass breakout. The deal was supposed to be that if they broke them out, the Death Eaters would help them in whatever their plan was." 

"So the Death Eaters are all with them now?" Bowen asked. 

"No," Rosalind continued. "Death Eaters don't work with Muggles or with werewolves. But they planned on the breakout and double crossing them so they could get their freedom. Somehow the message wasn't passed along to Lucius who wasn't in agreement with the plan anyway and he got left behind." 

The men eyed each other, piecing the puzzle. "And the rest of the Death Eaters?"

Rosalind shrugged. "I don't know. He made it sound like no one was actually going to follow through with it, they just wanted out. But I'm sure he could find his way back in if he needed to."

"Interesting," said the Boy Who Lived, stroking the edge of his desk. "What does Lestrange want out of all of this?"

"Immunity," Rosalind said hesitantly. "He wants his life back. But I didn't guarantee him anything." 

Harry shook his head, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. "If he thinks he won't go back to Azkaban for what he did to the Longbottoms he's one thick bastard." 

Rosalind stayed quiet. She really didn't care what happened to Rodolphus, but she did care that Ares could potentially grow up without a father. "I know. But I think he could be useful." 

Bowen sighed. "Perhaps he could. We'd have to commit him to an Unbreakable Vow to ensure he doesn't do anything rash." 

Harry strummed his fingers across the oak wood, thinking hard. "Do you have a way of contacting him and making sure he gets here without being a threat?"

Rosalind nodded. "Yes. I can bring him in." 

"Excellent," Harry said with a click of his teeth. "And if he blows his cover either they'll kill him or the Dementors will have him. Bring him in tomorrow morning. We'll question him and decide from there."

Rosalind sucked in her breath, unsure if she was relieved or not. "Alright. I'll have him ready for you."

***

Still in his nightclothes and reeking of last night's drunken endeavors, Rodolphus Lestrange stomped silently into the Ministry of Magic's Department of Law Enforcement. His hands were clasped behind his back by invisible handcuffs, Rosalind walking behind him to maneuver him in the right direction, with Draco following suit. She pushed him into the interrogation room, removing the spell so his hips and legs were bound to the chair. The entire department looked through the glass window into the room, shocked that a Death Eater was in the Ministry again. 

Rodolphus chuckled when Rosalind bound him to his seat. "How is it that you still look sexy when you're tying me up?"

"I can still kick you out and send you to Azkaban," she retorted in disgust. 

He grinned, showing off his decaying teeth. "Come with me. It's not that bad." 

Draco shot him with a stinging spell as Rodolphus cursed out loud. "Stand down. You don't want to make this any harder than it is."

At this Rodolphus let out a full-bellied laugh. "How does it feel, Draco, being on the other side of the law? Does it make you feel better bossing your uncle around?" he shook his head in amusement. "Still doing the cowardly thing like your father. Bloody coward." 

Draco raised his wand as the door swung open and Harry stepped in. He stared coldly into the former Death Eater's eyes, not bothering to greet him. "Send Dawlish in here," he instructed Rosalind. "You two are dismissed." 

Rosalind nodded as she and Draco switched places with the Auror. They stood on the other side of the glass with the rest of the department, watching eagerly as Harry drilled his man. Rosalind was surprised at how calm he was behaving, a quality that she lacked. No matter the insult that Rodolphus threw at him, he never wavered. Rodolphus knew much more than he initially led on, forcing Harry to decide that he would be useful. 

Finally at the end of the interrogation, the former Death Eater spoke calmly. "I only have one request that I want to be guaranteed." 

Harry raised his brow, almost blending into his glasses. "Oh yeah?" 

"My family. I don't want them to be affected. My son--I don't want him getting hurt." 

Harry's head cocked to the side. "You have a son?" 

"Yes. With Daphne Greengrass. I want her to be protected as well." He spoke it so plainly, as if it wasn't a secret. "Rosalind is friends with them if that's any type of confirmation." 

Harry and Dawlish gawked at each other, unsure what to say. Rosalind nodded awkwardly, face flushing, gesturing them that it was true. Harry cocked his head to the other side, shifting his attention to Rodolphus. "Alright. We'll send someone to make sure they're not being harmed." He cleared his throat, shuffling a roll of parchment in his hand that was recording the conversation. "But as of now you are a confidential informant of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but you are also high-risk. Your every move will be watched. Understood?"

Rodolphus sighed, leaning his back against the chair. "Understood Mr. Potter." 

Harry snapped his fingers for Rosalind to grab him. "Take him to his holding cell in the eighth level. We'll send someone on watch."

She unbound him from his chair, binding his hands once more. Rosalind held his hands to his back, shoving him into the elevator and down to his cell. The elevator sunk slower than usual, opening its door to the cold, drafty floor. As she moved him into his cell, Rodolphus finally looked grim. He was staring at the grimy floor, beginning to accept his decisions. 

"Do me a favor, could you?" his arrogance faded. "If something happens to me, take care of Daphne and Ares. Make sure they're alright." For a moment he sounded afraid. "They're not going to let me off easy from here...and it would mean a lot if you could make sure they're okay." 

Rosalind eyed him. He had never spoken to her in that tone before. "Daphne is my friend. Of course I'll look after her." 

For the first time Rodolphus gave a genuine smile. "She likes you a lot, you know. I appreciate it." He stared at her as she closed the gate, letting out a deep sigh. "I don't know what I would do without them." He was no longer looking at her--he was staring blankly out the bars of his cell, the weight of his actions reaching him. For a fraction of a second she almost sympathized with him, before leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

How odd, she thought, that someone who has done such malicious things can still feel emotion and attachment to others. That even a Dark Wizard--or former one--could have a family that he cared about. She walked back to her desk deep in thought, a part of her hoping that Ares would not grow up in a broken home.

"Did you hear me? Rosalind!" Harry's voice snapped her out of her trance. "Dawlish will be with Rodolphus but if the language barrier becomes an issue when he goes undercover with him we might need you. Is that alright?"

Her eyes widened at the thought of being around those people again. "Like going undercover?"

"Yes, we’ll give you Polyjuice Potion and anything else you need," he answered quickly. "But I need to know that you're okay with it." 

She nodded. "I can do it. I’ve been undercover loads of times." 

"Good. Now go comfort Malfoy he's looking exceptionally grim." 

Rosalind glanced over at her partner, who was scribbling shenanigans on a scrap of parchment. She sat on his desk, forcing him to stop writing. He gave her a disgruntled look.

"Cheer up," she said cheerfully, keeping herself from stroking the side of his head. "What's wrong?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing. It's just weird arresting my uncle is all." He scrunched up the roll of parchment, throwing it into the wastebasket. "You reckon he'll be useful? Or do you think he's pulling our leg?"

Rosalind shrugged. "I don't know. I think he will be for the most part. I'm hoping they don't call me in though...I haven’t been undercover in a long time." 

Draco looked up at her almost sympathetically. "You'll be fine. I can go with you if you want." 

She sighed, muttering her thanks and returning to her desk, finding herself noticing his mannerism: the way he held his quill as he wrote, the way the same strand of hair fell over his eyes, the way he would scowl when he was in deep thought. Her charm bracelet tinkered as she scratched her quill on the parchment, piecing the remains of the puzzle before them together. She shuffled through previous cases of werewolf attacks and known werewolves, which were difficult to find given the fact that most werewolves did not want to admit they were one for fear of isolation. But most had a trait in common: they were alone, with no friends or family, with likely no one to care if they were missing. It was almost as if they were recruited for a bigger purpose; it appeared that negotiation wasn't an option. 

As soon as the clock chimed signaling the end of her shift, Rosalind snapped her notebook shut heading straight to the lift. Christmas break had officially started and she had to be at King's Cross Station to pick up Emma. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet from excitement, smiling from ear to ear. She nearly ran out the lift when she spotted a tall, lanky ginger-haired man talking to a pretty blonde. An arrow shot straight through Rosalind's heart seeing George with someone else. For a moment their eyes crossed paths, and as hard as she tried to keep smiling, her eyes fell from disappointment. George glanced at the girl in front of him and back at Rosalind, looking slightly torn. She slowed her pace, hoping--praying--that George felt as gutted as she did, hoping that he felt terrible for being at the Ministry knowing full well they would run into each other. 

A large, round-bellied wizard knocked into Rosalind's back, causing her books and notes to spill over onto the floor. She cursed him, face flushing, rushing to pick up her belongings as the man left without a word. "Just great," she muttered to herself as she picked up her favorite quill, now soaked from the fountain. She looked around frantically for her bottle of ink, finding it rolled over and cracked at the side. She let out a groan, annoyed that she'd have to buy another one. She stood up to her full height, as George Weasley stood in front of her.

He gave her an awkward, one-eared smile. "Hello," he said with a hand in his pocket. "How are you?"

Rosalind paused, giving him a frustrated, angry look. "I'm fine," she said calmly as she tucked a frizzed curl behind her ear, her bracelet shimmering in the light. 

George nodded slowly. "That's great to hear." He scratched his nose nervously, eyeing the bracelet on her wrist. "Listen...I've been meaning to talk to you--"

“About what?” she snapped in a low voice. “You made it clear you didn’t want to see each other anymore and could’ve owled me or something--”

"I know," he said quietly. "And I apologize. It was a lot to think over." His lips pursed as Rosalind’s frown deepened. "I just didn't know how to approach you."

"Why? Did you think I would hurt you?" she asked, her face burning. 

George's face quivered. "I'm not sure." He took in a deep breath. "But to be fair you ran away before I had a chance to say anything." 

Rosalind's face fell. "Because I'm a coward. I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me. Not after--not after everything I've done." She was staring at the wooden floor, unable to face him.

"But I do," he said gently. "It was just a lot to take in. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous."

"Nervous about what?" she asked, still staring at the floor. 

"Everything," he continued in a low voice. "I got scared and backed off. I knew you were too good to be true and that was it."

“That was it?” she repeated, meeting his gaze, eyes burning. “You were looking for a flaw? You said nothing would change--”

"Maybe I was wrong...but I'm not sure." He glanced over at the pretty blonde, who was sitting at the cafe reading a book waiting for him, the back of her head familiar.

“She’s the girl that was in your shop the other night,” she said, a knot forming in her throat. “And the same one when I left your place a few weeks ago.” She paused, eyeing him as he shuffled his feet nervously. “Was she the one you visited the other day in St. Mungo’s? With the dragon pox?” 

He nodded as his ear reddened. “Yes she is. She’s a nice girl.” 

Rosalind stared at him dumbfounded, swallowing the stubborn knot. “Were you seeing her at the same time as me?”

He nodded again slowly, one hand still in his pocket. “Not the entire time.” 

“What do you mean not the entire time? Were you with her Halloween night when the shop had an incident?”

“Yes but there really was an incident at the shop,” he added quickly upon seeing her expression. “She happened to be there already and by the time I realized what time it was it was too late to go to the party so I owled you instead.” 

Rosalind’s brow twitched, the grooves of her mouth searching for the correct words. “But everything you said to me--”

“I meant it all.” His lowered head looked into her eyes. “Promise.”

“Then how did--? I don’t understand,” she said holding back a stream of tears. 

“I don’t either,” George continued. “It wasn’t planned it just happened--she was easy to talk to and whenever you were with your Slytherin friends she’d always be around and we ended up spending a lot of time together.” 

“Why are you telling me this now?” she finally sputtered. “Are you with her?”

George shook his head. “I am not. She is a wonderful person but it wasn’t until you opened your mind up to me and I was crushed that I realized how much you meant to me all along.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said staring at the floor once more. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you.”

“Rosie don’t--”

“No George it’s true,” she said, blinking away tears. “And I can’t be mad at you for what happened with her because I ended up in the same situation.” 

George bit his lip, both hands in his pockets. “I know. I know about Draco.”

“It was an--what?” she asked flabbergasted. “How did you know?”

“You said it yourself love, you’re a lousy Occlumens.”

“Oh,” was all she managed to say, her hands beginning to shake. “I’m still sorry.”

George sighed, his toes drawing circles in the wooden floor. “I know you’ve felt guilty for a lot of things in your life, that being one of them. I didn’t want you to keep feeling guilty.” 

She glanced up at him, a long tear streaming down her face. “Why? I hurt you.” 

He gave her a curt, somber nod. “But I was doing the same as you even if you didn’t know about it. I know we had decided to take things slow and we never entirely established our relationship that’s why seeing her didn’t feel like a breach of trust--because we had both stated we weren’t ready for a relationship.” He cleared his throat as Rosalind listened intently. “But then it became bigger than I intended and I--”

“I get it,” she finished for him. “You didn’t want to get hurt and the safer option was to have a backup plan.” 

George mouth quivered. “Yes, even if it was unintentional.” 

Rosalind sniffed, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “You shouldn’t feel bad. I never deserved you in the first place and I always knew that.” Her chest heaved from crying. “I thought--I thought you were too good to be true, you seemed so perfect it made me anxious and it was all new to me--”

“It was new to me too,” he cut in. “What I felt for you was overwhelming and something I never knew I could experience.” 

"So what was the problem? Before you found anything out?"

George opened his mouth, the hinges on his jaw constricting. "You're so damaged...and I am too. I was afraid we'd hurt each other more than help. I didn't know what to do." 

"So you just gave up." She wasn't asking, she was awaiting his confirmation. 

He nodded slowly. "Yes. I gave up because I was afraid of taking a chance."

Rosalind shook her head, letting out a rattled breath. “I can’t be mad at you because I was afraid too. I’ve never felt I could be with anyone because of what I’ve been through and what I’ve done...I always thought you would forget about me and leave me for someone else. Someone better for you.”

George let out a low sigh. "I never wanted to leave you." She met his gaze again, his eyes reddened with tears. "I could never forget about you. You made me so happy."

Their eyes connected, shining from the reflection of the salted streams. "You made me really happy too," she admitted. She wiped her cheek, smearing mascara onto her sweater. She held her breath to keep herself from crying more. "So what happens now?" 

George shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps neither of us are ready for a relationship."

Rosalind sniffed, staring into the floor once more. "You’re right." 

"We can still be friends I hope," he said gently. "I really care about you."

Rosalind didn't answer. "I hope you do." 

He took a small step closer to her, pulling her into a hug. "You mean so much to me Rosie, I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you." 

She inhaled his scent, a flood of memories penetrating her: the first time they met, their first date to Hogwarts, their first kiss, her birthday. It was too much. She pulled away from him, wiping her nose. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." 

George's face looked pained. "I know." He rubbed his arm awkwardly. "It would mean a great deal to me if you showed up to Christmas dinner. Emma is still invited.

She stared at him. "Wouldn't that be weird with your girlfriend there?" 

"She's not my girlfriend," he said firmly. "She's just a friend. And she won't be there. Harry, Ron and Hermione will be there too, it's kind of a neighborhood event. Loads of people will be there." 

She continued to stare at him, slightly confused. "I'll think about it." She glanced at the watch charm on her bracelet. "I have to go. I have to pick up Emma from King's Cross." 

George smiled nervously. "Alright. I hope to see you around." 

Rosalind tried to smile but couldn't raise her cheeks. "Me too." She turned around, wiping her face once more, stepping into the fireplace, sprinkling in Floo Powder for the train station. 

The blowing of the whistle and smokey smell indicated the Hogwarts Express had arrived. Rosalind rushed to platform 9 3/4 as a band of kids ran out to greet their families. At the back of the line was little Emma, glasses askew as she struggled to carry off her luggage. Rosalind came to her rescue, picking up her trunk and holding her hand. "Oh sissy I missed you!" she cried as Emma half-hugged back. "How was the ride?"

"It was okay," she said pushing her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. "Same as usual." Rosalind frowned, sensing something was wrong. She dropped the subject, making their way back to the fireplace. Emma walked in first with the Floo Powder with Rosalind shortly behind. 

The apartment was quiet, clean and bright; Rosalind had made sure it looked presentable for Emma's homecoming. "Are you hungry?" she asked excitedly. "I have your favorite dessert for tonight."

"I'm not hungry." Her voice was flat.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

Emma ignored her, pulling out a stack of documents, setting them on the table in front of Rosalind. "I read this yesterday. It’s interesting." 

Rosalind's stomach dropped as she read the front page--it was the police report of the night her parents died, complete with all the notes. "Where did you get this?" she asked slowly.

"I ordered them." She was staring at her older sister, waiting for a reaction. "You should read them."

"I already know what they say," Rosalind answered, skimming through the pages, holding in her disbelief. "Why do you have this?"

"Why did you lie to me?" Her voice was angry, her coal-like eyes bulging from their sockets. 

Rosalind hesitated, lifting her face from her hands. “Because I thought telling you our parents were murdered would cause you a lot more problems than telling you they died in a fire.” 

“Why were these people after you? Were you in a gang?”

“No it was the opposite--we were resisting the gangs and they must have tracked me down. I was basically a cop but everyone down there has a price and is usually bribed--maybe they gave them my real name, I don’t know--” she looked at her little sister, her lip quivering as she fought back tears. “Why are you asking this? You're too young to know--"

"I am NOT too young to know!" Emma cried. "I'm not stupid Rosie, I'm sick of you and everyone else thinking that!"

"I know you're not," she answered in a low voice. "I was waiting until you were older."

"Were you planning on telling me you manipulated my memory too or were you gonna leave that out?" 

A knot formed in Rosalind's throat, the mental blow punching her in the gut.. "What did you say?"

Emma's arms were crossed, mouth agape. "Why do you always lie to me? Did you think I would never find out?"

"No Emmy that's not it--"

"You killed those two people that broke into our house, didn't you? I saw you do it!" her eyes were beginning to swell.

Rosalind sank into her chair, her hands gripping the arms tightly. "What else do you remember?" 

"Lots of bits and pieces now that I have been jogging my memory," Emma said in a smaller voice. "They killed mom and dad and you killed them with that fire lasso spell that's in the police report." 

Rosalind stared at her sister in disbelief, a wave of nausea in her stomach. "What else was I supposed to do Emmy? If they killed me they would've killed you too.”

Emma's face fell. "But kill them?” she asked in a tiny voice. “How could you do that to someone?” 

"To save us--to save YOU!" she screamed, causing the smaller sister to cower in the corner. "Do you know who those people were? They were hit men looking for me, not our parents, it's my fault they died! I had to kill them or else they would've killed us both!"

"That doesn't explain why--"

“I didn’t want to erase your memory,” she sniffed, eyes swollen with tears and snot running down her nose. “But I panicked and was so scared you’d turn out like me.” She wiped her eyes, looking deranged. “I didn’t know how else to protect you.”

"By messing with my memory?" she exclaimed. "That doesn't make sense."

Rosalind's breathing slowed, her mind racing. "I didn't want you to end up like me,” she repeated. "I didn't want you to be traumatized, to actually remember what happened...I figured it would be easier if you didn't know they were murdered." She paused, her elbows resting on the table. "I thought wiping your memory once would be enough but it wasn’t. It turns out traumatic events affect our brains so much they leave a deep impact--every night you'd be screaming from seeing it happen all over again." Her voice was lower, still calm, her eyes staring at the police report in front of her. "I just wanted you to grow up happy and normal. It wasn’t supposed to be continuous--" 

Emma had one arm over her chest, holding onto her other arm awkwardly. "I don't know what to say," she said as tears began streaming down her cheeks. "I always thought something was wrong with me or I was crazy because I would have those dreams all the time and I couldn't tell dreams from real life sometimes..." she wiped her nose, her glasses fogging up. "When was the last time?”

“About a year before you left for Hogwarts.” Her eyes were swollen from the day’s events. “The older you got the less often you had the nightmares.”  
  
“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Rosalind stood as her sister began to cry silently. She held her, moving them to the floor next to the crackling fireplace. "I'm so sorry Emmy. I’m sorry I’ve ruined everything for us.” 

"I don't know what to feel," she said in a hollow voice. 

Rosalind's stomach panged as she stroked her sister's head, calming her down. Eventually her breathing began to slow, her eyes closing. Rosalind cradled her, her eyes nearly swollen shut. She stared down at her little face, torn, praying that someday this would just be a distant memory for them both. 

**Woo, that was a long chapter! I know a lot happened, and there's more to come! What a long day for everyone. Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter will be more lighthearted and dealing with Christmas :)**

**Next chapter: Heartache Every Moment**


	27. Heartache Every Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Miss me, Weasley?"

**Chapter title taken from the HIM song.**

Christmas Eve had arrived, blessing the city with picturesque scenery straight from a story book: children laughing in the yards, snowball fights and snowmen galore, couples holding hands over hot chocolate. Meanwhile Rosalind's apartment smelled of eggs and bacon, as she was trying to make a Christmas Eve breakfast for Emma before they headed to the Greengrass estate for lunch.

"How fancy do I have to dress?" Emma asked from the bedroom. "I don't want to look like a dweeb." 

"You don't look like a dweeb," Rosalind laughed as she saw her sister in dress pants and a blouse. "You look cute."

"I don't wanna look cute," she frowned, crossing her arms. "I'm not a baby." 

"You're getting free food out of this so quit complaining," Rosalind instructed as she set down a plate of food for her. 

"Why are you feeding me if we're about to go eat?" she asked with the brush still in her hair.

"Because I know if I don’t feed you now you’ll overeat there and get a stomachache after," she replied in a motherly tone. "You can't eat everything they have."

Emma frowned, chomping on her bacon. "Fine." She ate her food slowly, making faces the entire time. Rosalind hardly ate, opting for observing her sister instead. She had been extremely quiet since the first night she came home. It was unnerving.

As soon as she finished, Emma held her sister's arm, holding her breath and ready for the ride. With a faint pop they Apparated before an elaborate garden. 

Daphne's mansion made Malfoy Manor look quaint: the scent from the rose bushes welcomed them into the tall, immensely long drawbridge, leading into a corridor lit by floating balls of bright fire. Wreaths and tinsel edged the walls, and a handsome Christmas tree sat beneath the largest window, the star atop illuminating the great room. 

"Wow you weren't kidding," Emma said quietly. "I could get lost in here." Her eyes wandered around the room, fixating on the little boy running in their direction. 

"Rosie Linda!" Ares screamed as he jumped into her arms. "I missed you!"

Rosalind beamed as she held the boy. "I missed you too pumpkin spice," she said as he smiled at the nickname she had given him. She turned her body to Emma, who was staring at the pair. "This is my sister Emma, she goes to Hogwarts."

Ares held out his hand like a perfect gentleman to shake the younger sister's. "Nice to meet you Emma," he said shyly. "I'm Ares, A-r-e-s!"

Emma giggled as she shook his tiny hand. "Nice to meet you." 

Rosalind set him down as his mother walked in. Even on the most casual occasions Daphne looked extravagant but had out done herself today with her long dark hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup subtle yet beautiful, and her dress grazing the floor elegantly. She was always flawless. Pansy was sipping tea with her younger sister, along with their other Hogwarts and Durmstrang friends. 

Daphne grinned as soon she saw the pair enter the grand room. "Don't tell me this darling little thing is your baby sister," she said as Emma clung onto Rosalind's arm and shuffled behind her back. Daphne lowered herself to Emma's height. "She looks just like you."

“Unfortunately,” the youngest muffled as Rosalind rolled her eyes and grinned. 

Rosalind nudged her in the shoulder. "Introduce yourself Emmy.”

Emma slowly let go of her sister's arm, extending her hand for Daphne's. "Nice to meet you," she said in a quiet voice. 

“She’s a bit shy around strangers,” Rosalind explained as her friend smiled broadly. 

Daphne let out a tinkering laugh. "Oh she's adorable. She's going to be a heart breaker in a few years," she winked, causing the little girl's face to flush. 

Emma glanced up at Rosalind, hiding behind her back again. "Go play with Ares. There are other kids your age here," she instructed in her motherly voice. "You'll be okay."

"I'm afraid to touch anything because everything looks so expensive." 

Rosalind laughed. "You'll be fine. Just don't do anything dumb."

Emma scowled. "Okay ma'am," she laughed as her sister punched her arm. She stuttered into the other room with Ares and the other kids as Rosalind made her way to the dining hall. 

The bubbling laughter of the young socialites brushed her ears; champagne was being poured by the house elves, gifts exchanged by the young women as they plopped tiny cubes of cheese and fruit into their mouths. If it wasn't for Daphne and Pansy, Rosalind would have felt out of place because in reality she was--an American born, broke Londoner who was raising a teenager when she wasn’t at boarding school. Sometimes she felt like her blood status was the only thing that could save her. 

"How's the Death Eater boyfriend treating you, Daph?" asked Loretta Morello, sipping her champagne delicately. 

"He's fine, working with the Ministry at the moment," Daphne answered as her own glass clanked against the oak table. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to get in touch with him but he'll be alright." 

"With the Ministry, you said?" Loretta raised her brow. "That's interesting considering he's a wanted man."

"He's working with me," Rosalind chimed in, noting the chill in her voice. "It's a high-profile case we have going on."

Loretta's brow did not waver. "You work at the Ministry?" her sarcastic chill continued. "Do tell, I would love to know more about this so-called case."

Rosalind let out a dry laugh. "I'm not allowed to discuss details. Confidentiality you know, and most laypeople don’t understand the terms." 

The corner of Loretta's lip quivered, her arrogance quaked for a moment. She rolled her head back to the other girls, instead questioning Pansy about her love life. Daphne was laughing silently behind her glass of champagne, shoving strawberries down her throat to keep herself from being heard. As the brunch continued, the bit of tension subdued; Emma was even getting along with Pansy's sister, who had apologized and was no longer bullying her. She buzzed into the room like an airplane with Ares on her back, who was holding her arms. It warmed her heart that Emma was smiling, the fight they had still pained her. She knew that as much as her little sister pretended to be okay with what she did, she was hurting on the inside. 

“She has such a pure little heart,” Daphne observed as their children played on.

“She’s much better with kids than I am,” Rosalind said between sips of champagne. 

“Nonsense, Ares loves you.” She set down her glass, shuffling a roll of parchment, rubbing her temple. “Loretta approached me about opening a shelter for battered and traumatized women. While I think it’s a great idea I don’t think she’s suited for it.”

“That arrogance would be difficult to work with.”

“Precisely,” she sighed. “She doesn’t know how to play nice or have any clue how to speak to someone who’s been traumatized.” She plopped a biscuit in her mouth, eyeing her friend. “You should do it with me.” 

“Me?” Rosalind scoffed in surprise. “Why?” 

“After everything you’ve been through? Why not?”

Rosalind paused, scraping her heels on the floor. “I can barely help myself,” she said in a low voice. “How could I possibly help others?” 

Daphne raised her brow, tapping her on the forehead with the scroll of parchment. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I promise,” she said with a laugh, throwing her another biscuit.

***

After brunch at the Greengrass estate was dinner at Malfoy Manor. Rosalind and Emma arrived as the sun was setting its crimson rays of the horizon. She was never at the Manor during the day, it seemed. Unlike previous occasions, however, the dinner was intimate: the house elves ate in the kitchen while the Malfoys, Rosalind and Emma sat at the smaller dining table. The Christmas tree towered over them, along with snow that fell just above their heads. Emma was sporting a Christmas hat that Draco had given her, along with a gold necklace from Narcissa and Lucius, in the shape of the letter E. 

Draco’s knife scratched loudly against his plate. She glanced up at him, peering into his pale grey eyes. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”

Rosalind smiled. “Me too.” She held his gaze, a flicker passing through them.“Thank you for inviting us.”

Draco grinned. “Of course. You’re both always welcome.” He was giving her a lost, familiar look, a glimmer of a smile peeking underneath his pale face. 

“Come walk with me,” he suggested, still keeping their gaze. She hooked her arm into the crevice of his elbow as he lead her to the back garden, leaving a trail of footprints behind them. A small rabbit thumped, hopping away from them into its den. Moments later they reached the fountain, trickling water daintily, the music from inside the manor playing softly. Rosalind spun around, dancing to the smooth jazz as Draco laughed at her. 

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” he observed as she took his hands, forcing him to dance with her. 

“I haven’t had a reason to,” she said as he held her close, swaying to the music. 

“Rubbish,” he said as she frowned at him. “It’s Christmas. You should be happy.” 

“I am,” she said still grinning, playing with the collar of his shirt. “It’s been a wonderful day.”

The music faded, as did the movement of their bodies. They stared into each other’s eyes, several words passing between them as the snow fell onto their shoulders. Rosalind blinked, her long lashes flicking away the snowflakes. Draco lifted her chin slowly, rubbing the underside of her jaw. For a moment they paused--breathless, as he closed his eyes, pulling her into his chest. 

***

It was another white Christmas and a beautiful one at that--the shops were closed but the sun was shining, children were playing and there was an abundance of Christmas cheer all around. Rosalind was humming a Celestina Warbeck tune, collecting the gifts she was taking to the Burrow, Emma busy tying her shoes in the corner, still wearing the singing Santa hat. 

“Let’s go munchkin,” she said as Emma scowled, holding onto her sister’s arm. She was almost thirteen years old and still had separation anxiety. With a faint pop and the quick feeling of estrangement, they had arrived at the Burrow. Rosalind’s stomach lurched; she was nervous and unsure whether it was a good idea to be there in the first place. She contemplated turning around when a jolly Mrs. Weasley spotted her by the gnome garden. 

“Oh Rosalind dear, come in!” she said cheerfully, spotting the little girl beside her. “Let me guess who this is, Emma?” she asked as Emma hid behind Rosalind’s back again, nodding. “What a sweet pea!” she chuckled, opening the door for the guests. 

A swarm of scents flooded their noses: Christmas spices, Christmas cakes, Christmas dinner, and Christmas dessert as various members of the Weasley clan and neighbors dotted the crowded kitchen and living room. She held onto her sister’s hand as they made their way to the ten-foot tree decorated with the most simple yet beautiful decorations. With the kids running around together, the mothers in the kitchen helping with the cooking and young adults scattered about, she had no idea where to go and the anxiety kicked in: she couldn't leave Emma by herself for too long, but she couldn't stay at the kids' table either.

Her little sister tugged at her arm. "What's wrong with that kid's face?" she asked in disbelief as she saw Teddy Lupin sprout a pig nose, then a hawk’s beak as the other children looked on in awe.

"He's a Metamorphmagus, he can change the way he looks," Rosalind said laughing at her sister's shocked expression. 

"Oh look who's here!" an excited Hermione exclaimed as Ginny followed suit. "She's such a doll!" She beamed as Emma flushed, clutching her sister’s arm tighter.

"She's a little shy," Rosalind lamented, jerking her sister to stand in front of her. "She's not used to being around so many people either." 

"How are you liking Hogwarts?" Hermione asked kindly. "What House did you get Sorted in?"

"I like it," she answered in a small voice. "I'm in Gryffindor."

The girls laughed as Harry and Ron made their way over. "That's a good thing because Gryffindor is the best House you know," the Golden Girl winked. "That's where all the brave people go."

Emma gave her awkward, close-lipped smile as she was ushered around into the next room by the Christmas tree. Her eyes lit up as she saw a small stack of presents waiting for her, next to a similar stack for Rosalind. 

"These are for me?" she asked meekly, looking at her scowling sister for confirmation. "I-I mean thank you," she finished as she began opening the top box, pulling out a maroon knitted sweater with a large "E" on it. Several products from Weasley Wizard Wheezes were gifted, as well as a few books from Hermione. The little girl looked like she was on the verge of tears from happiness.

As the evening continued, more faces popped in and out of the Burrow, some that Rosalind recognized from reading the Prophet or around the Ministry: Luna Lovegood, who was becoming well acquainted with Neville Longbottom, Rubeus Hagrid, who was larger than life, hanging in the garden with Olympe Maxine, Bill and Fleur Weasley and family, along with Charlie and Percy Weasley, and a few faces she had never seen before. It was surreal seeing so many figures she had only read about. 

"I'm glad to see you've made it," a familiar half-cheerful voice said behind her. Rosalind turned her body to see George Weasley in his infamous Weasley sweater and a Christmas hat. "I almost thought you wouldn't show."

She hesitated, taking a moment to look into his face. She had never noticed how lined it was; wear and tear and grieving the last few years had weathered creases on the corners of his eyes and his mouth. His warm brown eyes were not as inviting as they once were, looking fragile. 

Rosalind swallowed a lump in her throat, forcing herself to cough. "Thanks for having us." She took a deep breath, not knowing what to say next. 

"Well you uh--you look great," George said with a forced laugh, scratching the side of his earless head. 

"Thanks," she said in a small voice. "It's nice to be around a real family for Christmas once. I forgot what it was like." She held her arm awkwardly like she always did, moving a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're really lucky to have them."

"I know," he said as he sat on the edge of the stone wall. "I love them to death. Wouldn't trade them for the world." He gazed ahead, as she took another moment to examine him: he smelled the same, as if he came straight from a bakery. She longed for his touch, for him to tell her she adored him. More than anything she wanted to run away with him--far away where they could be by themselves together for the rest of their lives. But she would never tell him that. He glanced down at her, his signature grin appearing at the corner of his lips. 

"Listen," he began as he scratched his nose. "I've been thinking a lot about the other day and I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for surprising you at the Ministry like that. I hope you can forgive me."

Rosalind mouth opened, surprised at the gesture. "You’re not the one who should be apologizing.” 

George merely shrugged. “I feel as if I should.”

“Don’t,” she said louder than anticipated, staring at her hands. “George, you--you are everything I could have ever asked for. But even if nothing happened with anyone else I don’t think it would’ve worked.” He opened his mouth to retort but she shushed him. “We both have suffered a lot of trauma. But you’ve become a better person from it and I-I’m not so sure I have.” She inhaled deeply to keep the tears from streaming from her eyes. “And I have to live with that. I’ve seen and I’ve done a lot--why would anyone want to be with someone like that? Someone like me?”

He smiled sheepishly, caressing her hand. “I did.” 

“You did. Before you knew.” She sobbed, wiping a tear from her face. “You deserve someone who shares your kind and goofy outlook on life, who’s a positive influence on you. N-not someone who will weigh you down.” 

His head bowed slightly. “You shouldn’t talk of yourself like that.”

“It’s true though,” she replied in a low voice. “I’m a black hole. And that’s not what you deserve.” 

The corners of his mouth quivered with the words he wanted to say, his eyes saddened.. "Perhaps you’re--”

But George became distracted; a new face had appeared, one that was a stranger to Rosalind but not to the Weasley twin. A tall, dark skinned woman with flawless, smooth skin and tight-knit curls stood in their midst, the curves of her athletic body visible through the tribal dress she was wearing. She was beautiful, and she knew it-- and George knew it as well. 

"Is-is that Angelina Johnson?" he stammered, as the woman laughed, pulling him into a deep embrace. 

"Miss me, Weasley?" she asked playfully. "I know you did." 

And they stared into each other’s eyes like long lost lovers, Rosalind suddenly invisible. 

**Did anyone see that one coming? Haha. We all know how this goes with canon--George ends up with Angelina and Draco ends up with Astoria. Rosalind is a bit complicated so we'll see what happens with her. Thank you so much for reading!**

**Next chapter: A Martyr for my Love for You**


	28. A Martyr for my Love for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Warn them."

**Chapter title taken from the White Stripes song.**

**"And we might share a kiss, but I feel like I can't go through with this...**

**and I know the right thing for me to do, is to leave you alone."**

**\--The White Stripes**

Rosalind stood mouth agape, staring on as George and Angelina gawked over one another. Part of her wanted to excuse herself, another knew they would likely not notice. 

"Oh how could I be so rude," George laughed after several moments of catching up with his old flame. "Angelina, this is Rosalind, she works at the Ministry with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Rosalind this is Angelina, we were good mates and teammates back at Hogwarts." He looked over Rosalind, flashing Angelina his signature grin. 

"Pleasure to meet you," said the woman named Angelina, flashing a perfect smile to go along with her perfect face. "Your dress is divine, I must say!" Her overwhelming friendliness was genuine. 

"Thank you, it was a gift from the Malfoys," she said bitterly, forcing a smile. Neither appeared to have heard her though, they were already enmeshed in conversation. She huffed, annoyed that she was left out; they were both so much taller than her it didn't matter that she was standing between them, they looked straight over her head. With her drink in her hand she made her way back inside, where Angelina was greeted by the rest of the crew. She watched as she greeted everyone like she was part of the family, from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, to the Golden Trio, to the rest of the Weasley clan. After the war she had spent some time traveling with a Quidditch team, having played Ginny a few times. 

"...and right when I thought I had it, a Bludger knocked me out of the stadium, I dropped the Quaffle and Ginny scooped it up for the game-winning score!" Angelina was at the center of the table while the rest of the family clung to her every word.

"It was a good game though!" Ginny piped up. "Tough luck on your part, sorry to hear about the broken ribs."

"It comes with the sport," she shrugged as Mrs. Weasley examined her ribs, muttering something about how Quidditch was too dangerous. "You win some you lose some." 

"How was the world tour?" Charlie Weasley asked eagerly. "Tell us all about it."

Rosalind watched on from the other side of the room how Angelina interacted so flawlessly with the Weasleys; she was basically one of them, with her talk of Quidditch and international career. 

The more she saw Angelina with them the clearer it was that she didn't belong there. She would never be one of them. She and George never made sense--they lived vastly different lives, and despite what had happened between her and Draco, and George and his blonde friend, the outcome would have been the same. George would be with someone more similar to him, and she would be alone. 

An odd feeling panged at her gut as she observed them together, watching George absolutely smitten with Angelina as if she weren’t in the same room. She clutched her chest, heart thudding loudly with every beat, every smile, every laugh taking a crack at her. She thought she would be angry but no, this was different--this was what was supposed to happen all along. She wanted George to be happy, even if it wasn’t with her. She was never meant for him. 

"You're sad," Emma's concerned voice found her sitting alone. "Why are you sad?" 

Rosalind snapped herself out of her daze, quickly wiping a tear from her eye. "Nothing. I’m just realizing I’m not deserving of being with someone.” 

Emma wrapped her arms around her sister’s torso, voice muffled through the cotton. “But I love you.”

Rosalind smiled, her gut wrenching. "I love you too." As Emma took hold of her arm, sucking in her breath, Rosalind took one last look over at George, hoping he would look over at her. For a moment that felt like an eternity, he turned his head in her direction, looking right through her. Invisible. With a loud crack, she Dissaparated, back into her bleak, dark home. 

***

Christmas, the end of December and New Year's came and went along with Emma's thirteenth birthday. Rosalind took the afternoon off so they could spend the day together alone. They baked a cake, went ice skating, built a snowman, and took Ares out for breakfast in the morning. 

"He's so ugly," Emma laughed as they attached a tiny stick arm to their snowman. 

"He looks just like you," Rosalind said pinching her sister's cheek as Emma scowled. "What're you gonna name him?"

"I'll name him Bob," she answered simply. "Bob the snowman."

Rosalind rolled her eyes, picking her sister up and throwing her over her shoulders. "Are you ready to tackle Bob? I'm going to throw you in!" 

"Nooo don't do it!" she cried, kicking her legs as Rosalind threw her into the snowman's chest, her little body plummeting into the three feet of snow. She coughed up slush, shaking snow out of her hair. They laughed as they cleaned their mess, getting ready to take Emma back to the Hogwarts Express. They ran back into the flat, rummaging for all of Emma's belongings, as it was almost time for the train to leave. They threw their Floo Powder into the fireplace, stepping out as the train choo-chooed and blew its horn. 

"Bye sissy I love you!" Emma waved quickly as she ran to catch the train. Rosalind stayed behind to assure that she made it on, catching the last compartment before the engine whirred, leaving for the castle and Hogsmeade Station. Other parents hung around as well, watching their little loved ones leave for the remainder of the term. As she turned around to leave, she spotted a dark, mangy and familiar face with two men, one with similar features. 

Rodolphus Lestrange lifted his chin towards Rosalind, signaling her not to approach him. She had forgotten that he was undercover, he looked so different and wild, as did Dawlish. The former Death Eater shook his head in her direction. _You can't be here. It's not safe._

Rosalind frowned as Rodolphus grit his teeth while one of the men said something to him. _Go back to the Ministry. Warn them. Hogsmeade Station and Hogwarts. I don't have time to explain. Her frown deepened as she opened her mouth in retort._

_GO._

Rosalind looked around panicked, as the rest of the families walked away smiling, happy, without a care in the world. Without hesitation she ran to the fireplace, appearing in the Ministry's halls still dripping wet from the snow. She ran in her soggy boots into the lift and out into the Auror's department, bursting into their meeting.

"What are you doing here," a disgruntled Harry said in the middle of his talk."I thought you took the afternoon off--"

"I did!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I just came from Platform 9 3/4 to drop my sister off--Rodolphus was there with Dawlish and someone else--I didn't talk to them b-but Rodolphus sent me a message." She doubled over as she clutched her side, out of breath. "He said to warn the Ministry, something about Hogsmeade Station and Hogwarts. I don’t know what’s going on but he didn’t have time to explain.” 

Harry, Bowen, and the other Aurors stared at each other as other department members stuck their noses in the door. "Thank you, Rosalind," Harry said slowly. "We'll send the Aurors there immediately. You are dismissed."

"But my sister is there too I have to see her--"

"I understand. We are sending Aurors there only for now," he said sternly. "You are dismissed." 

She stood there with her mouth open, angry that Harry wouldn't let her go. She stormed into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, pacing around her desk before a confused Draco stopped her.

"What's the matter with you? I thought you took the day off?" 

"I did. I saw Rodolphus at Platform 9 3/4. Something is going to happen at Hogsmeade Station and Harry sent the Aurors to check it out. I asked if I could go and he said no." 

Draco sighed, taking a seat. "What do you expect? They're Aurors. They'll always be better and more important than us."

"I know but I have to make sure my sister is okay--"

"Doesn't matter. Aurors always take the big jobs. You can't do anything about it."

"Ugh this isn’t fair!" she groaned, slamming her head into her desk. "I was the one who let them know about it!" 

"I know," he said in a calmer tone. "But remember the Chosen One gets to call the shots." 

"I should head over there anyways to make sure she's okay--"

“Are you mad?" he said with a stiff laugh. "They'll handle it. You're skilled and you're smart but let them do their job."

"Look at you being the voice of reason," she said sarcastically.

"I'm your partner, love, I'm here to help," he said with a wink. 

Rosalind sighed dramatically, grinding her teeth. What would they possibly be doing at Hogwarts? Blowing up the school? It didn't make any sense. And if something happened to Emma she wouldn't be able to live with herself--that would be another death because of her. 

She was like a bad omen: she couldn't be close to anyone without someone getting burned in the process. Toxic, noxious, lethal. She served no good purpose. Tragedy didn't follow her around, she created it. She wasn't bad luck, she was the root of the problem, a parasite waiting to slowly reap upon the earth. It was no wonder she never had any friends--who would want to stick around for someone like her?

A sudden burst of clapping ensued, an odd cheery moment among the bleakness. Rosalind turned around to see Breckenridge, with her broad shoulders and statuesque body limping into the room. After spending weeks at St. Mungo's, she was cleared to go home. 

"What're you doing here?" Lucille exclaimed, helping her partner. "I thought you'd be home!" 

"I heard the news about Hogwarts," she answered, finding a seat at her usual desk. "We've got work to do, don't we?" 

Lucille laughed nervously as she jabbered on how it was too early to know. The rest of the department clamored around her desk, firing questions left and right about her attack, bringing over cups of tea to discuss the current situation. The office was in a standoff, waiting desperately to hear from the Aurors. The minutes ticked into hours, and the laughter and optimism died down. The only word they had received was that they were to remain in the office until they had further information. 

Breckenridge cleared her throat, limping towards Rosalind's desk. "How're you holding up?"

"Me? I'm fine," she replied quickly. "How're you doing? You've been out for a while." 

The woman shrugged, her scars still looking fresh. "I'll be alright. Nothing time can't heal." She took a deep breath, lowering her voice. "What do you reckon they want?” 

Rosalind shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

She nodded, her lips pursed. "Whatever it is it won't be pretty." They both sighed, glancing at the clock again. It ticked slower and slower as the day went on; towards the second half of the day the group was becoming restless with no news. Draco was in the corner playing Exploding Snap, while Rosalind was tapping her foot impatiently, pouring over her notes. Her gut was telling her something was wrong--but she couldn't put her finger on it. 

A small paper airplane smacked her in the forehead, causing her to almost rip it in two with her hands. She recognized the thin, elegant writing scribbled on it as Draco's: _Come l_ _et me beat you in Exploding Snap_. She laughed under her breath, surprising herself. Draco caught her eye, giving her a sly grin. She slumped into the chair next to him as he was finishing up a game.

"What's this letting you win talk I heard about?" 

"Nothing. Had to get you over here somehow didn't I?" 

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Because you’re the worst to be around," she laughed as he shuffled the cards, playing against Avery. His long, slender fingers found themselves resting on her knee, his facial expressions remaining the same. "Don't worry. We've got this game." 

She smiled slightly, as Draco continued on as if he hadn't performed his gesture. "I'll try." 

"Damn right you will," he said confidently as the cards exploded, narrowly missing his already pale eyebrows.

Their shifts were done and over, but the department remained at the Ministry just the same. The entire group was restless, having been there all day. Lucille was filing her nails, legs propped up onto her desk. Avery was on the floor reading the Prophet, Breckenridge and Rosalind staring blankly at the ceiling. After what had felt like days, a faint clacking could be heard running their direction. Their bodies jerked upward, staring at the great white stag standing in front of them. Harry Potter's Patronous had arrived, his voice echoing through its mouth: they have arrived at Hogsmeade Station. The kids are in danger. Many are missing. Send reinforcements straight away. The voice faded, the Patronous disappearing like a ghost, the entire room in shock. 

The Galleon began to burn in Rosalind's pocket, but she ignored it, knowing what it was going to say. Emma was one of the last students to get onto the train, just as she saw Rodolphus and Dawlish. She could've been a target, or easily taken. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, the bodies around her moving slower than usual. She could see Draco saying something to her, but she couldn't hear his words. He grabbed her arm, forgetting to hold her breath as she felt as if they were passing through an extremely tight tube. Within seconds they had landed at Hogsmeade Station, the screams of panicked adults and children burning her ears.

Harry ran to his colleagues as soon as they arrived, sweat dripping down his forehead. A million questions were thrown at him, but he waved them away, catching his breath. "R-roll call, they just finished up roll call," he stammered, doubling over. "A lot of first and second years are missing, along with some older kids." He stood, clutching his side. "Bowen's son is missing. So is Dawlish's. Rosalind," he turned his body towards hers, as she tensed at his facial expression. "Your sister is gone too." 

Rosalind's body fell into the wall as it caught her, keeping her from slamming the ground. She shoved herself away, retching into the snow, the remains of her lunch all over the outside of Honeyduke’s. She could see Harry and Draco trying to help her, as her head became heavy.

“Rose-Rosalind--” Draco stammered as he saw his partner retching all over the snow. “Calm down we’ll get this under control--” 

She could barely hear him, her body still in shock. Her mind was paralyzed. The chaos surrounding her masked her into the surroundings, as members of both the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry were trying to gain control. A faint voice was by her side, barely audible, moving her into a different location.

“Don’t worry Rosalind I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you. You got it?” Draco’s voice felt far, his features almost unrecognizable as he moved her into the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta handed him a tonic, which he eased into his partner’s throat. 

Her eyes fluttered, as if woken from a dream. “Whas...whass going on?” she asked groggily. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Three Broomsticks,” Draco said quickly. “I just brought you in here. Are you alright?”

Rosalind glanced around, taking in the room. The chaos outside the pub was diminishing. “What’s going on? What do we need to do?”

“Nothing,” Draco reassured her, forcing her to sit as she tried to stand. “I already spoke with Potter. You’re staying here in the meantime. They will need you later. He’s bringing Rodolphus and Dawlish as soon as he can and we’ll go from there. I’ll be right back.” 

“Draco where are you--?”

“Stay put, Rosalind!” He said angrily, grabbing his wand and running outside the pub door, leaving Rosalind alone with Madam Rosmerta, who shrugged her pretty little shoulders. 

Rosalind creaked into a sitting position, her body feeling usually heavy. She wobbled over to the windowsill against Madam Rosmerta’s orders, peering outside to take a look at the chaos but there was none; whatever had happened, she had already missed it. She sat back down, taking the pint of butter beer that was offered to her, eagerly waiting for Draco and the others to return. The Three Broomsticks was near empty, save for her, the landlady and a few frightened customers. 

In what felt like hours later, Draco, Harry, Dawlish and Rodolphus burst into the pub, followed by Hermione, Ron, Neviile, and other Aurors, all their voices booming over the rest. 

“Did you ever think of sending a goddamn Patronous, either of you?” Harry roared at the undercover Death Eater and Dawlish, sopping wet from the foot-deep snow. 

“I can’t exactly produce a Patronous, mate,” Rodolphus growled with his arms extended, as if awaiting a challenge. “Being a former Dark Wizard and all.” 

“They had us under a close watch at all times,” Dawlish began, his mustache crusted over with ice. “There was no way we could send a message without being seen. They don’t trust us yet we’re trying to get into their ranks--” 

“So what’s the problem? We’ve given you resources--”

“We can’t understand what the fuck they’re saying half the time!” Rodolphus roared over the others. “The spells we’ve been using and all the magical objects we have aren’t enough. There’s too many of them and they’re not all in one location and they use their bloody hand signals all the time.” 

Harry let out a long sigh, the weight of the situation creasing lines onto his face. “How did you know about what was going on today?” 

“Piecing the puzzle together,” Dawlish cut in. “They recognize Rodolphus, they like him a lot. He was welcomed almost with open arms,” he said in a harsh tone. “They took a while to warm up to me. My recruitment was harsher. But they trusted him with information, asking about Hogwarts. They’d done their homework, the lot of them--but they wouldn’t tell us much. We knew if they were heading near Hogwarts it would be something big.” 

The Aurors glanced at one another in silence. “Do you have any idea where they could have taken them? There are loads of kids missing, most of them from wealthy, well-connected families or ones whose parents work in the Ministry,” Harry pressed. “Any idea at all?” 

Both men shook their heads. “We’ve no idea. But I don’t think they’re necessarily planning on hurting them,” Dawlish continued. “At-at least I hope not...” his voice faded as he thought about his son. “I just want my son back.” 

Hermione placed a hand on Dawlish’s arm to comfort him. “So what now, Harry? They don’t have much time. They’ll know they’re gone.” 

The Head Auror paced around the room, scratching his head and pulling on his jet black hair. “We need someone else.” He turned to Rosalind, who was sitting by herself in the large chair. “We’re going to need you Rosalind. You’re the best bilingual option we’ve got.” 

Rosalind froze as the entire room focused on her. They looked angry, on edge and hesitant. “What do you need me to do?” she asked slowly. 

“We’ll need to come up with an alias for you. Something convincing with a storyline. And give you a disguise--Hermione can take care of that,” Harry said quickly, still pacing the room. “You two--Rodolphus, Dawlish, go. We’ll send her as soon when she’s ready.” The two men nodded in agreement, leaving without another word. Harry barked orders to the others, focusing again on Rosalind, lowering his voice. “I know it’s been quite some time since you’ve been undercover” he said in an intensely jarring tone. “But this is extremely important and I wouldn’t be offering to put you on the line like this unless it was absolutely necessary. Do you understand?” 

She nodded, still shivering from the cold breeze coming from the closing door. “Yes. I understand.” 

“Good. We don’t have much time. It’ll be just like old times.”

Rosalind nodded somberly. “Right. Just like old times.” 

**It has been a while since Rosalind was undercover--something we all know isn’t necessarily good for her. Hopefully she can maintain her composure but we shall see. Thank you to those that are still around :)**

**Next chapter: Gematria (The Killing Name)**


	29. Gematria (The Killing Name)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Doing this doesn't make you any better than me."

**Chapter title taken from the Slipknot song.**

**This is a flashback chapter, taking place immediately after Mothers of the Disappeared.**

**El Salvador, December 1997**

The crackling of fire burned my cheeks, the cinders rotting my nose. A public bus was forced on its side, engulfed in flames, the cries of women, men, and children screaming for their lives, reaching through the windows. My heart dropped to my stomach. I thought this was an assassination attempt, not mass murder. We had been given little information before Apparating. I glanced over to Jorge who was already making his way to the bus, and back to Katerina who was already gone. The deafening stutter of gunshots rang past my ears; I sprinted to the bus, shouting water spells to diminish the fire as others dragged bodies out one by one but it was hardly any use, the rebels were ready to retaliate. A clammy hand grabbed my arm, causing me to jump and draw my wand. Ernesto, face inked in ashes with his second-hand gun was motioning for me to follow him. Being born and raised in El Salvador he was skilled with a gun. I followed him around the chaos and behind the burning bus. I cast a Shield Charm on us both, tiptoeing to a short grove of trees, crouching to our knees behind a thick tree trunk. 

"Over there," his crooked fingers pointed to a string of young, heavily-tattooed men hurling bullets and spells at passerby. Ernesto lifted his gun, taking aim as I cast protective spells around us, rendering us invisible to everyone else. The _pop-pop-pop_ of his gun shot straight to the men, dropping to the ground like flies. Ernesto had impeccable aim. I never dared hurl a spell so far away, I'd kill an innocent or even worse, we'd be dead. My back rested against the other side of the tree trunk, watching our surroundings. Riots like those didn't start out of thin air, someone must have planted a seed to grow the weed. I knew our people would find a name, and once he was known I would have to look for him. I was essentially a _sicario_ \--a hit man. 

The whizzing of a bullet grazed the hair on my ears. "Shit," I had said, dragging Ernesto behind the tree as his gun spit more bullets. "They saw where the bullets were coming from. They know we're here." Bits of bark exploded by my face as I hurled a jinx at our attackers who were sprinting in our direction. Four large men with throwing knives and machetes spotted us near the tree, their eyes hungry for a massacre. 

"Run!" I shouted to Ernesto who needed no warning as he was already gone. I stood my ground as the men approached the tree. _"Bombarda maxima!"_ ****

I jumped into a nearby bush as the tree exploded, knocking shreds of bark deep into their skulls. My head snapped into the direction of the remains of the bus. Jorge had his fingers in his mouth, whistling--that was our cue to head to the safe zone. I held my breath, grabbed onto Ernesto’s arm and Apparated, my ears ringing melodies from the deafening roar of the swarm of bullets. 

I paused in a slight panic, looking for Katerina. We were in a cabin in the mountains away from the majority of the population, dozens of wounded and mutilated bodies littered in cots. She and the other medics were busy pouring potions and herbs onto wounds, muttering healing spells. I observed her as she magicked a wound to stitch itself back together, all the while holding the patient's hand and patting his head. She was so innocent, so unlike me. I don't know how she was my friend. At times I envied her--how she was still lively and pure after all that she had seen and been through never ceased to amaze me. 

“Why did that happen?” I asked Jorge as he walked over to us. “There were dozens of people in there and most of them were elderly and kids!” My breathing was still rapid from the prior events, my eyes still taking in the bloodied bodies around us. 

"Jose Figueroa," Jorge shoved a faded photograph into my hands. “The _desgraciado_ probably threatened someone and still decided to be a piece of shit.” 

I observed the photograph of a fairly young man, a light-skinned Latino with an upturned nose and thick brows with a smile that could clear the room. 

"That's your target. Find him, seduce him, do whatever to get to him." 

I raised my brow at seduce. "What's my disguise?" 

"Young woman, mid-twenties. Your name is Amada Ortiz." He shuffled through a sack of clothing, tossing out a denim mini skirt, platform sandals, hoop earrings and a tube top. "He's a regular at one of the bars nearby. You and Ernesto are going to track him for a few days. Learn his habits, see what he likes." 

"Fine. But I'm not wearing those stupid earrings. I'm not getting my ears ripped out." 

After spending a few days staking out the bar, my face and body were Transfigured for my new identity. Polyjuice Potion wasn’t an option, because if something went awry and it became whose hair we used they’d be dead in a heartbeat. We never involved innocent people. 

_“Vamonos,”_ Ernesto slapped his brotherly hand on my shoulder. “Ramirez is coming too. We’ll be at the bar with a couple drinks and we’ll be able to hear everything that’s being said.” He closed the gap between us, looking into my eyes. “You need to get an admission from him. That’ll be your go ahead.” I nodded as he squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s get this _hijo de puta.”_ He nodded to Ramirez, a feeble looking campesino only two inches taller than me. He didn’t look like much, but he knew his way around any firearm, machetes, and his wand. Being underestimated was his greatest strength.

As the two men Apparated, I lagged behind seventeen minutes. My heart accelerated as I mentally reviewed my plan. Jose Figueroa is everything I despise in a person--arrogant, wealthy, violent, and with a disregard for human life. 

Jorge pocketed his stop watch, giving me his curt nod. “Go.” 

Without hesitation I Apparated to our safe point, secluded from the main paved road, the humidity drenching my skin. It didn’t matter that it was December, the tropical jungle always weeped. 

Blaring cumbia rang through the speakers, the dim lights accentuating the grisly mood. Scantily clad women were pounced on men as I looked around for my target: he was in the corner drowning in tequila with two men close by. His bodyguards. 

I straightened my back, completely ignoring Ernesto and Ramirez who were chatting up the locals. I walked slowly, letting my hips sway as I felt his stare. I paced by him, smiling coyly, ordering a tequila on the rocks. I thanked the bartender, sipping my drink at the counter, Jose and his men steps away. 

The heavy scent of liquor and expensive cologne drowned my nostrils. He jerked his head to the bodyguards, who slumped themselves to nearby stools. Figueroa took my hand, pressing it against his lips. _“Hola bella._ Are you here alone?"

I nodded, raising the corners of my mouth. "Not anymore." 

His lip quivered into a smirk as he chinked his glass against mine. _“Salud.”_

I faked a sip, watching the man who was responsible for the death of dozens slurp the liquor. I slipped a dash of ground manchineel leaves--the most poisonous tree in the world-- to his drink while he spat orders to his guards, accentuating his drunken state. It wouldn’t kill him. I only gave him enough to irritate his throat. 

A sweaty, musky hand crawled down my back as I clenched my jaw in annoyance. I hate physical touch from men. They always want something. But I can't let Figueroa see that. Instead I smiled, tugging at his polished leather belt. His breath reeked of hard alcohol, fogging my dry eyes as I internally grimaced at his decrepit hand touching my skin. 

His scorching hand caressed my cheek. "Have you ever been here before?" he asked in his distinct Salvadoran accent. He came from money. 

I shook my head as he caressed my thigh and I explained I had friends in the area but I was from Ahuachapan. “You don’t want your friends to join us?” I nodded to his bodyguards once the bartender only gave us two drinks. “They look interesting.”

Figueroa shook his head. “They watch my surroundings for me.” To my perplexed expression he added, “People love to come up to me to converse with me.” 

I raised my brow innocently. “Are you a politician? Or famous?”

He grinned a devious smile, taking a calculated sip of his drink, his pinky ring flashing in the dim light. “A little bit of both.”

“You sound like an interesting man,” I said, my head cocked to the side, my fingers grazing his belt loop. 

“I’m sure you’re quite interesting yourself.” His voice was low, inches from my face.

I shrugged a shoulder, matching his grin. “My dad grew up on a farm and my mom ran a restaurant with her family.” Not a lie - my dad was the second oldest of nine children and helped run the family farm after his father was killed in a car accident. My mother learned her cooking skills helping with the family restaurant, the fourth of seven children. 

_“La hija de un campesino.”_ The daughter of a peasant. “What do you do now?”

“Whatever I can to make sure I don’t live like they did.” I laughed dryly. “I’m a student but shuttling money back and forth between here and there is a hassle and is rarely ever enough.” 

Figueroa eyed me, a miniscule seed planted in his brain. “From what? Bartending?”

I nod. “It’s the only job I can find that fits my schedule and gives me enough time to study.”

He finished his whiskey, rocking the glass back and forth in his hand. “There are other ways to make money, you know.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” I laughed loudly. 

He continued to eye me, finally setting his glass down, facing me. “You are gorgeous and smart, surely you can think of something.”

I grinned, eyeing his lips as he hooked his finger into the belt loop of my skirt. “Do you have any ideas?”

His teeth flickered in the low light, revealing a broad grin. “Come upstairs with me.” I extended my hand as he led me to the rusted door in the back of the bar. I clung onto his disgusting hands as we walked upstairs into a wood-paneled room, occupied by two men and a woman. Figueroa snapped his fingers as the group almost knocked heads as they glanced up at us, white and grey powder snowflaked onto their noses. One last snort and they departed, leaving us alone. 

I positioned myself on the couch next to him, rubbing his arm. It was frustrating how attractive he was, a reminder that that made it easier for him to get whatever he wanted. Frustrating because he was a deadly combination of looks, wealth, power, intellect, and charm. All used for evil. Figueroa coughed, likely from the manchineel. 

“Is this another bar?” I asked glancing around, noting the thick walls, fully stocked bar, and absence of windows. 

“VIP lounge,” he grinned as he poured us another drink, my eyes fixating on the decanter and glass to ensure he didn’t slip anything in. “Completely soundproof.”

Perfect. “So you are important,” I said crossing my legs, the side of my foot grazing his jeans.

He devilish smile broadened. “People listen to me.” He raised his glass to me, other hand grazing my thigh as my insides squirmed.

I batted my big eyes, head to the side. “What do you mean?” 

His head popped up from the glass table, flecks of the powder falling from his nose, a lock of dark hair skimming his eyebrow before he smoothed it back in place. “I make people rich.”

“I’m listening.” 

This made him grin. “A pretty girl like you could easily make a few thousand between every run from here to Ahuachapan.”

_“Como?”_

“You don’t get stopped by police much do you?” he asked casually, lighting a cigar. I shook my head, and he pointed his lips to the residue of the white and grey powder on the table. “Do you know what that is?” I knew full well what it was, but again shook my head. “This is pure cocaine, with uhh--a few special ingredients.” Armadillo bile and powdered borage. “A combination of ecstasy and psychedelics, all the while being clear headed enough you remain safe. No bad trips. The perfect drug.” 

A drug manufactured in Colombia and brewed with expert potion makers, smuggled through Central America into Mexico and the United States. No reported deaths and the Muggles hadn’t been able to detect it, therefore the cartels and drug smugglers were quickly becoming wealthy. 

“A happy drug,” I said simply. 

“A happy drug,” he grinned, leaning back and taking a puff from his cigar. “If I can guarantee that you can move this without getting caught, would you do it?”

“I don’t believe in guarantees,” I said with a small smile. 

He raised the corner of his mouth. “I have ways to guarantee your safety and that you won’t get caught.”

Drug mules were often charmed to go undetected by the Muggle police, eventually cursed to stay with the _maras._ The Dark Magic would cause them to swallow their tongues and suffocate if they tried to rat them out. 

“And how much—“

“Five thousand dollars for every kilo you move.” 

“Wow,” I nodded in surprise, hearing Ernesto’s voice whistling, _“Puchica,”_ in my ear, aware of every word being said. “That’s generous.” 

“Enticing, _que no?”_ He leaned his smoke smothered breath closer to my own. “What do you say?”

“I’m interested,” I said as he brushed his hand on my knee. 

Figueroa grinned dryly, pouring himself another drink as he locked his tongue between his teeth, crows feet protruding. “Good. I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

“I can’t wait,” I say with a sip of my own drink, swallowing quickly. “Is that how people know you? Because of your supply?”

“Not exactly,” he said slowly. “I have several businesses around the country and beyond.”

“But you’re so young,” I said in awe. He was approaching thirty, enough time to build himself a small empire. 

“You flatter me,” his eyes flickered a smile. “I have been fortunate to have many well-connected friends and colleagues that help me.” When I raised a my brow, he continued, “Even the _maras_ listen to me.” I did a poor job of hiding my shock. “Not to worry, I’m not a _bandillero,_ I just am acquainted with some former members.” He rolled the collars on his sleeves, showing clean skin. The gang members were notorious for their tattoos. 

I nodded my understanding. “Were they the ones behind that bus fire?” I already knew the answer, that he was behind it, but I needed to hear it from him. I needed him to tell me what he’d done. 

“That’s the speculation,” he said averting his gaze. 

“So many children and elderly died. It’s so sad,” I continued in my same tone, eyeing him. 

“They won’t be missed.” He puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Most had no family and they’ll be dumped into a mass grave.” Seeing my expression, he added, “Someone probably didn’t pay their extortion fees to the _maras_ and they punished the whole village.” A likely possibility--the gangs extorted nearly every household and business, forcing them to pay hefty weekly or monthly fees for “protection” otherwise they will be kidnapped, tortured, or killed. Not that it made a difference in most cases. The _maras_ do what they want and offer no protection. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” I said crossing my other leg. “Pay them for protection or die, or pay them and someone else can’t and die anyway.” I sighed delicately. “That’s no way to live.”

“God bless the United States for deporting the American made gang here for them to continue their havoc here,” he raised his glass, the beads of a rosary peeking through his shirt. “How old are you, _nena?”_

“Eighteen.” Close enough to my real age. They like them young.

He whistled, leaning back into the couch. “Almost makes me feel bad for taking advantage of you.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me,” I scowled. “I want to know everything.” I touched his knee lightly. “I think you’re fascinating.” 

Figueroa’s eyes scanned mine, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Even the bad parts?”

“Those are the best parts,” I whispered wide-eyed in awe, peering into his coffee colored eyes, damning myself for being lousy at Legilimency. 

He pulled me closer to him, so he was only inches from my face. “In time, _corazon.”_ I spotted a slender wand near his right arm, my brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Ah, you found my secret,” he said in a low voice, revealing his wand. “This is how I get everything done.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked perplexed. 

“Magic, _mi amor,”_ he said simply. 

“Show me.”

He grinned, pointing to a glass vase and Transfiguring it into a glass rose, handing it to me. “Wow,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.” He looked satisfied at my expression. I’ve been Transfiguring glass since I was twelve. 

“You can really hurt someone with all this magic can’t you?” 

His mouth breathed another chuckle as his glass chinked against his teeth. “Of course I can. It happens all the time.”

I cocked my head to the side, indicating my curiosity as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Magic does a lot of good. But it can cause a lot of damage too.” He tucked his wand away, puffing another cloud of smoke. 

“Like what?”

He took in another long breath of cigar. “You’re not ready to hear all of that. You won’t ever look at me the same.”

“That’s impossible,” I teased, scooting closer to him so our knees touched, looking like a giddy schoolgirl.

He let out another puff, eyes still locked on me. “I’m sure you want to hear about the coyotes and how people are smuggled north.” He lifted my chin with three of his fingers. “That’s a story for another night.” His hand gripped my thigh as he leaned away with a mischievous grin. 

_“Dime mas,”_ I cooed, anchoring his hand on my thigh. “Tell me more.”

“You’re too young for me, _nena,”_ he said not fighting me.

“We can be friends,” I whispered. “Close friends.” 

He closed the gap between us, noting my fixation on his wand. He jerked himself away, shoving me onto the couch. “It won’t work for you,” he snarled, drawing it like a sword.

“What are you--”

“It only works for me. Do you not understand what can be done with this?” 

“I was just looking at it--”

A flash of red light collided with the glass table, forcing me to shield my face with my arms. “You want to see more?” He growled, waving his arm, the entire stocked bar crushed in his anger, shards of glass and liquor dripping to the floor. 

I kept my arms above my head. “I’m sorry I--”

“You don’t want to know what I do to people with this.” His voice was low, taking meticulous steps towards me. “I make them listen to me.” 

“Like torturing them and killing them for not doing what you and the _maras_ want?” I asked, arms slowly dropping to my sides. 

His lips curled into a snarl. “Yes, amongst other things.”

I could hear Ernesto’s fist pounding on the table. “Yes! Get that _hijo de puta!”_

“Let me guess, and they can’t defend themselves?” My voice was calm but my heart was thudding against my chest. “Kids? Women? Innocent people? What kind of person does that?” 

Figueroa lifted his chin, wand drawn at me. “You don’t sound so enthusiastic anymore.” 

“I’m still curious,” I continued in my soothing voice. “Do I look scared to you?”

He paused, chin still lifted. “They’re low-lives. Poor people. Nothing to lose. No one will miss them.” 

“They’re doing all they can to get a better life,” I retorted, keeping my wand hidden behind my forearm. “They’re born poor and they die poor unless they get lucky or leave to another country in hopes of breaking the cycle.” He laughed at my little speech. “And you’re taking advantage of them and exploiting them to make yourself money.”

“It’s all part of the game, love,” he breathed, taking another step closer to me. “It’s not for the weak of heart.”

I smiled, drawing my wand, shooting a spell to the door, melting it shut so neither of us could escape. 

His jaw dropped, and a tense, exaggerated moment crossed between us, wands drawn like swords, sparks beginning to flame. Figueroa threw his wand back, hurling a jinx at me. I dodged it, shooting a jet of red light that missed him by inches. Glass shattered my eardrums as another table demolished as I saw him make a run for the door. 

_"Stupefy!"_ Figueroa landed face first onto the wooded floor.

I screamed--Figueroa had charmed the shards of glass to raise before my eyes, aiming for me. I fell onto the ground in the fetal position, hundreds of shards penetrating my back and sides and arms and torso, blood scathing through my clothes, gushing crimson. His footsteps jerked my eyes open, making his way to me with a deathly look on his face.

Like a slash of a knife, I split his cheek split open exposing his teeth, his eyes blazing fire. "You _perra.”_ He raised his arm, wiping his bloody nose with the other, ready to strike. I backed up into the wall, wincing and clutching my side. _"Crucio!"_

My body smashed into the ground like a corpse, flailing like a fish out of water; my nerves felt as if they were on fire, accentuated by the holes in my torso. Figueroa chuckled, darting around the room for an escape. I screamed, crying out in pain waiting--begging--for the curse to stop. I couldn't let him run away. I groaned, rolling to my stomach breathing heavy, my heart beating through my chest. I couldn't see him. But there was no way he could have escaped. There were no windows. I held my breath, hoping to slow my raggedy breathing. _"Revealio,"_ I whispered, and then I spotted him: behind the bar, hiding like the coward he was. I crawled on all fours, creeping behind him as we both calculated our next move. My shoulder brushed against the chipped wood, giving me away but Figueroa instead bolted in the opposite direction. I seized my moment: I twirled my wand like a lasso, a whip protruding out of it, wrapping around his neck. I jerked it to the ground, bashing his head, blood rupturing through his skin. 

_"Expelliarmus!"_ I cried as his wand flew out of his hands. I kicked it away into the corner as he yelled obscenities in my direction. I raised the whip again, slashing his torso, my heart swelling as he cried in pain. 

_"YA BASTA!"_ He was bleeding sweat, his chest speckled blushing maroon. "I get it I get it--just tell me what you want from me.” His voice was unnaturally high, the desperation clear. “We can make this go away—“

“I don’t want your money,” I sneered. “I want you to pay for what you’ve done to so many innocent people. Starting with the people from the bus, and the woman the other day who left here scared after you assaulted her.”

His eyes gleamed in panic. “You’re a cop? But you’re—“

I shook my head. “I work with them. I hunt people like you.” I stepped closer to him, my wand at his throat. His heartbeat echoed through my wand into my arm. We stared at each other, daring the other to speak. 

“I’ve heard of you,” he said attempting to swallow his dry saliva. “You’re the one who’s killed my men with the Fire Lasso Curse.” 

“They deserved what I did to them.”

He grinned mischievously, his voice barely audible. "Doing this doesn't make you any better than me." 

I grinned, matching his. "You’re wrong. I don’t hurt innocent people." I raised my wand, his eyes snapping shut in fear, my heart thundering in excitement. 

_"Mortem suffocant."_ His jaw unhinged obtusely, a violent breath vacuumed out, his eyes forced open for the last time, a small puff of air floating between us. 

I took a step back, astonished at what I had done. I sucked the air out of his lungs, watched him choke on his last breath. 

_“Lista,”_ I said knowing Ernesto and Ramirez were nearby. My head jerked in the direction of the door, now melting into the wooden floor. 

Ernesto ran towards me, grimacing at the wounds on my torso and Figueroa’s lifeless body. _“Dios te bendiga,”_ he said making the sign of the cross. “We need to get you to the medics. As for this son of a bitch,” he pointed his lips to Figueroa. “We need to dump his body somewhere.”

“I’ll do it,” Ramirez chimed in. “The _maras_ need to know he’s gone.” 

I dropped my wand, my head heavy, collapsing onto Ernesto, my chest aching. Ernesto’s faint voice mumbled something to me, the room disappearing as we landed back in the jungle of Apaneca. He carried me onto a cot, Katerina’s frantic cries approaching me. She lifted my shirt, gasping at the oozing holes. I grasped Ernesto’s hand, preparing myself for the painful healing process. 

Katerina dabbed ointments onto my skin, muttering incantations in Qʼeqchiʼ, the language of the ancient Mayas, my wounds beginning to sew themselves, leaving faint pink scars. The pain was still fresh, my body wincing with every stitch. 

“She’s lucky they didn’t hit her face,” Katerina muttered as more bodies hovered over me. “Most of these will heal fine but the ones on her hands were deeper and scarred the bone. Those will always be there.”

I groaned, opening my eyes upon hearing a new voice, a priest, chanting prayers in Spanish to the cot next to me, a young woman sobbing onto the small unmoving body. _“Que paso allí?”_

Katerina’s lips thinned. “The little girl had a bullet lodged in her neck. I couldn’t save her.” Her voice quivered as tears streamed from her eyes onto my skin. “I should’ve done more—“

“You can’t save them all,” I said taking her hand. 

Katerina sobbed, clasping her hands around mine. “She was three years old." She wiped her face with her arm. "What kind of person does this?”

We looked over to the woman and her child, hearts panging in guilt. No parent should go through watching their child die. “We’re doing what we can.”

Katerina nodded, Ernesto offering a hand of comfort. “I know,” she said wiping her tears. “We’re trying.” 

I gave her a small smile, laying completely on my back. I waved my wand, Transfiguring my area of the ceiling so I could look at the stars, Figueroa’s last words ringing in my ears. This was what I had lived for, hurting people like Figueroa. After what happened with him, when I was a teenager, what I let _him_ do to me, this was the only thing that made me feel alive again. It made me feel powerful because I was the one in control now. But sometimes...sometimes I'd think that it wasn't all for the greater good. It's a never ending battle. Sometimes I thought it was an excuse for being angry all the time. At what point did I become as bad as them?

I sighed, clutching my chest, staring into the deep blue sky and searching the sea of stars for answers. But there were none. The night sky was as dead as my soul, as lifeless as the pair of eyes next to mine. 

**So that is a day in the life of Rosalind the** **_sicario_ ** **, a time in her life she is careful to talk about. I’d like to point out that some of the things mentioned in this chapter have actually occurred, such as the MS-13 being an American born gang, people fleeing the country for the United States, the extortion of the gang to the locals, and even the bus fire. In 2010 men on motorcycles intercepted a bus, doused it in gasoline, and set it on fire with the passengers inside. Qʼeqchiʼ is a real language as well, spoken by the Q’eqchi Mayas of Guatemala, Belize, and El Salvador. As always, thank you for reading! The next chapter brings our story back to the present.**

**Next chapter: Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow**

  
  
  
  



	30. Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow/The Devil in I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You still think you deserved it, don't you?"

**Thirty:** **Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow/The Devil in I**

**Chapter title taken from the Bullet for my Valentine song and the Slipknot song.**

**Trigger warning: This chapter portrays much of the trauma and violence that Rosalind has experienced and may be triggering (sexual assault/domestic violence/homicide).**

An unfamiliar face was staring back at Rosalind in the mirror: a fuller set of lips, shorter, curlier hair, and a more rounded face, and a replica of the Dark Mark on her forearm.

“The younger you look the more they will underestimate you,” Hermione said. “That’s the hope, at least.”

She smiled somberly as she returned a gentle smile. “We have faith in you. You can do this.”

“Thanks Hermione.” The Golden Girl left, Draco approaching her with a bleak look on his face.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Nervous,” she said truthfully. “It’s been a while.”

“I’d be telling you you’re mad if you weren’t.” He sat in the stool next to her, letting out a sigh. “Did they tell you your alias yet?”

She nodded. “Rodolphus’ wife.”

“Don’t look so grim,” he couldn’t help but laugh. “Dawlish will be there too.” She rolled her eyes as he placed his hand on her lower back. “You’ll be fine. You have the whole Ministry for backup.” He stood, taking her hand and pulling her into an embrace.

“Thanks Draco,” she replied as he hugged her. “I’ll see you soon.” She looked into his eyes, preparing herself to leave, taking one last look at him. His handsome face didn’t even seem strained; he wasn’t worried. It was strangely comforting, knowing that he believed in her. At least someone did. She closed her eyes, holding her breath, Apparating into a dark forest. Rodolphus Lestrange was standing next to a tall oak tree, wand twirling between his fingers. 

His eyes lit up, chuckling at the sight in front of him. “Is that you, Morana? That Mudblood sure did a good job on you.”

“Don’t call her that,” she snapped, immediately drawing her wand. Rodolphus held his hands up, his grin unfading. 

“Calm down love, I was just testing you.” He eyed her body, before suddenly jerking her close to his face. “Listen, we don’t have much time. You know your alias. You know your storyline. But you have to sell it.” He gripped her robes tightly as she tried to pull away, lowering his voice. “I know how you feel about me. But either you go along with it or you’re going to watch one of those fuckers take advantage of you. Is that what you want? You want them to take advantage of you?”

“N-no I don’t--” she stammered, a lump forming in her throat from the mere thought of that repulsive image. 

“Then don’t let them. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t need to and do not go anywhere alone. You go in there and act like you know what you’re doing. If they find out you don’t they will kill you.” 

Rosalind nodded furiously, swallowing the remainder of her pride. She was feeling like she did five years ago--vulnerable and weak. She inhaled sharply, throwing her shoulders back as Rodolphus led her down a dark, thickly wooded trail. After what felt like half an hour of ducking under branches and avoiding thorny bushes, they had arrived at a camp: several tents were sprinkled across the wooded ground, small fires blazing under the sparks of the moonlight. Groups of men, ranging from early teens to middle age, heavily tattooed, most with their heads shaved sat around. Boys as young as nine and ten years old were polishing their guns, sporting a few tattoos of their own, learning from their older peers. Most communicated nonverbally, nodding their heads, pursing their lips, using sign language to send messages with their own code. Some had wands drawn, some had machetes, rifles and other weapons. The pungent odor of drugs invaded her lungs; marijuana, heroin, cocaine and other Muggle drugs were in full use, along with potions and magical herbs that she had never seen before. The only women around were bound by ropes, blood crusted over their ankles and hands, their eyes hollow from the deeds they were forced to do. 

“Are they--?” 

“Yes,” Rodolphus said in a low voice. “They’re exactly what you think they are. Forced here against their own will to serve just one purpose. It’s disgusting.” 

The grim tone in his voice surprised her. Rodolphus was a man who had committed countless horrendous acts, but the sight of these Muggles offended him. Her body tensed as they walked through the campground, dozens of pairs of eyes following her to their destination. Her heart beat rapidly; it was like being in El Salvador again. The bodies, the drugs, the guns, the weapons, the trafficking--it was almost overbearing. Rodolphus kept his hand behind the small of her back, showing whoever they walked by that she was with him. She was the only woman walking around freely. Finally, he stopped her before the largest tent in the campground. He nodded towards the guards in front, who sent a message inside, coming back out to escort them into the tent. As Rosalind expected, it was heavily guarded by magic and Muggle weaponry alike, one wizard for every Muggle. Bandanas hung over the lower half of their faces, their tattoos and rifles over their chests like medals of honor. 

From the back of the tent came an average sized man, with a menacing, evil grin, blowing out a long puff of smoke from his Cuban cigar. He was slightly stout, his caramel skin contrasting sharply with his jet black hair and coal-like eyes. When he spotted Rosalind he smiled, as if greeting an old friend, his arms spread wide. 

“Sal Amaya,” Rodolphus said with a short, curt bow. “As promised. My wife, Esmeralda Lestrange.” 

Rosalind gave her brightest, most poisonous smile.  _ “Encantada,” _ she said in perfect Spanish. 

The man took her hand, kissing it slowly, not breaking eye contact. It took all she had not to shiver and move away in disgust. “I’ve heard many good things about you,” he said in rough English. “You were a Death Eater, no?”

“Of course.” She lifted her robe, showing the black snake and skull tattoo on her left forearm. The snake slithered into the skull’s mouth, its yellow eyes glowing. 

“Excellent,” Sal said eyeing the tattoo gleefully. “You’re good with a wand, no? You like killing people?”

_ Only those who deserve it,  _ she thought. “I love it,” she said with a smile. “There’s no other feeling in the world like it.” 

Sal Amaya chuckled, tapping the cigar ashes onto his boots. “What’s your trademark?” 

“I start with a Cruciatus Curse,” she said simply, taking a seat in a rickety chair, crossing her legs and springing her chest forward. “I like to make them hurt for a while.” She took a sip of tea that was offered to her, grinning at the seemingly normal conversation they were having. “Then I move onto a Fire Lasso Curse, hanging them from their necks. I like watching them squirm during their last breaths.” She smiled, matching the same menacing look that Sal Amaya had. 

“Ah, so you are a professional,” he replied with another puff of cigar. “Makes things much easier.” A trail of ashes burned tiny cinders into his jeans, as he straightened his coat. “Do you know why you’re here? Do you know why I asked your Death Eater husband to get you?” 

Rosalind shrugged innocently. “Not really.” 

“We need more people with experience like yours. Much of these kids here they don’t know what they’re doing yet. They’re too young. But you, you’ve done this before.” He grinned again, shaking his cigar at her. “I have high expectations for you. But you need to be initiated first.” 

Rosalind’s eyes widened. Upon preparing her storyline she had forgotten about the brutal initiations. “And how do you suggest that happen?” 

“Well normally we have new recruits get jumped in, or beat in, and women get sexed in. But I have another option that I’ve been eager to try out for quite some time.” He snapped his fingers, a guard producing a vial the size of a flask, an emerald green potion glowing phosphorescently. “In order for this to work you need to show your commitment,” Sal continued, holding it in front of her face before tucking it into his coat pocket. 

“What does it do?” she asked trying to mask her nervousness. 

Sal shrugged, giving a booming laugh. “All I know is that the greatest Dark Wizard of all time used it. We heard rumors about it and replicated it as close as we could while adding our own elements. Could be a fun experiment.” He slammed the stub of his cigar on the arm of his chair, carefully examining Rosalind. “Which is it going to be?” 

Rosalind opened her mouth, her words dangling. There was no way she was going to let anyone touch her--not without her hurting them back. She glanced at Rodolphus, whose jaw was unusually tense. 

“Let’s try that potion, shall we?” she said with her head cocked to the side, her legs still crossed. 

Sal Amaya grinned, rubbing his hands together. “I was hoping you’d say that. Step outside. Let’s get started.”

Without another word, the guards grabbed her arms, throwing her out onto the cold, January snow, instantaneously forming lumps on her knees. She grit her teeth, digging her nails into the earth before standing up. She swore to herself she would never let a man lay his hands on her again--but she had to keep her cool. 

“Keep walking,” Sal said calmly, leading her into a darker corner of the forest. “No need to make a scene. We’re almost there.” He shoved a long, skeletal finger into her back, his gritty, animal-like nails digging crescent moons into her skin. They reached a secluded thicket, a brook dripping softly through the sheets of ice. Sal ordered Rosalind to turn around, as Rodolphus and what she assumed was Dawlish and other guards watched. Sal pulled out the potion, glowing brighter in the moonlight, tossing it at Rosalind. 

“Drink it.” 

Rosalind uncorked the bottle, inhaling it hoping to recognize the scent but it was odorless. That could mean anything. She held her breath, drinking more than half in one gulp. 

For a long moment she thought they were pulling her leg. Nothing happened. Then it started slowly, a bubbling acid in her stomach, gurgling up her throat. She clasped her throat, barely able to breathe as the entity of her stomach lurched out. Sal and his men laughed as Rosalind doubled over into the snow, retching her food and coughing up blood. A second passed and she thought it was over but it had just begun: her legs went dead, her arms felt too heavy to move. She dropped to the ground, feeling disoriented, covering her ears from all the laughter. It sounded like she was in the center of a circle, and they were running laps around her, pointing at her, laughing at how weak she was. Her insides began to burn, a burn so excruciating it caused her back to convulse, making her scream in pain. This was much worse than a Cruciatus Curse--as much pain as she was in she could still see everything clearly, how Sal was enjoying himself, how his men giggled in excitement, how Dawlish’s knuckled blazed white in anger. 

“AAHH!” she screamed as her limbs convulsed involuntarily, her breath ragged.

“Is is starting to hurt?” she could hear Sal laughing, lighting another cigar. “Is it too much for you already?” 

Rosalind glared at him, her eyes stinging with tears. “No.” Her teeth were crunching from the weight of her jaw. 

Sal smirked, dropping cinders onto her face. “Good. This is just the beginning.” 

Her breathing slowed as she tried to hold her tears in, glaring into Sal's eyes. His mouth was moving, but she could no longer hear him; her hearing was muted then her eyesight, forcing a flood of memories to play instantaneously, like a motion picture in real time. She was standing in front of a park, watching her younger self. A sinister voice slithered into her head, narrating her own story: 

_ You were fifteen when you met him. So young, still innocent. Look at you, sitting at the swing set by yourself watching him. You wanted him to notice you.  _

A football landed at younger Rosalind’s feet, a young man bending over to pick it up. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like she remembered. It was bizarre seeing herself, and the crystal clear image of  _ him  _ was enough to cause her to throw up again, but the images remained whether her eyes were opened or closed. 

_ "Hey beautiful, I've never seen you here before."  _ He picked up the football, spinning it in his hands.  _ "You live around here?" _

Rosalind nodded her head to the nearby houses.  _ "Yeah, just over there. I go to a private school, I only come home during the weekends." _

He licked his lips, as he often did.  _ "Oh so you're one of those smart girls, huh? I like those."  _ He looked hungry, turning for a second to throw the football back to his friends.  _ "You are too cute. I'll see you around." _

Younger Rosalind smiled shyly, blushing that someone had paid attention to her. She watched as he ran back to his friends, taking one last glance back at her. The scene turned black, focusing on their first fight. The yelling, the shoving, the way he grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him while he was talking--she had never realized how tiny and fearful she looked next to him, or how hesitant she was at the wand in her pocket. As the scene was playing out before her she could feel the punches physically hitting her again. She was trapped, able to hear snickers from Sal and his men. 

_ You always knew that you could have used magic against him when he hurt you. But you didn't,  _ the cruel voice chuckled.  _ Did you really think he loved you? After all the things he forced you to do? One beating wasn't enough was it? You let him go on.  _

"Stop it," Rosalind sobbed, knowing what would be coming next. "Stop it. I don't want to relive this..." 

She continued to sob as she watched her younger self in her room, arguing with him, telling him she didn’t want to do anything with him, pleading with him to stop, begging him to leave her alone as he forced himself on top of her.

Her younger almost lifeless body was on her bed, head turned to the right, making direct eye contact with her present self, a single tear streaming down her cheek, lips trembling in pain. 

_ You still think you deserved it, don't you?  _

"STOP IT!" Rosalind screamed, snapping her eyes shut, unable to escape the scene. "STOP IT! PLEASE!" She was on her knees, begging for the images of her past to cease. She could hear the men laughing at how pathetic she looked, crawling all over the floor blindly. Snot drained out her nose as she plunged forward into the snow, her chest heaving. 

Once again the scene changed, but she was in El Salvador. The house was on fire, the one Rosalind resided in with the rest of her companions. She spotted Jorge, who was fighting off two people before she found herself, alongside Katerina. She was more beautiful than she remembered, her tiny frame almost engulfed by her large smile. Rosalind was fighting a wizard who had attacked Katerina first. She didn't even bother focusing on her younger self, she knew what was coming. 

_ Remember when you realized just how good of a killer you are? How great it felt?  _ the voice whispered as the flames spread on. She had no idea how gleeful she looked when fighting, she made it look so easy. She watched as her own eyes lit up as soon as she hung the attacker from the banister in a noose of fire. 

_ "Rosie Linda--!" _

Katerina's last words as her throat was sliced open right in front of Rosalind, her screams clouded by the blaze. 

"NO!" she cried, her body still burning from the potion, the laughter growing louder. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS! I can't see this again--"

The scene flickered, this time at Rosalind and Emma's home. Her parents' dead bodies on the living room floor, Rosalind punching the Muggle on the ground, present day Rosalind feeling every blow and curse. One was already dead, hanging from the ceiling. She looked angry and dangerous, breaking the man's nose in a swift punch before hanging his body as well. She stepped back to examine her work, almost smiling. Again, she looked happy to have killed. Because they deserved it. But at the edge of the bathroom doorway sat a little girl, too afraid to speak. Emma's face was enough to knock Rosalind into shock for how terrified she looked. She had just witnessed her sister commit a double murder.

"Please..." Rosalind begged, her throat burning with thirst. "Please stop I don't want to see this anymore..." 

_ It was all your fault. You can't help but to kill sometimes. _

"That's not true..." she said quietly, feeling around the snow for the water. "That's not true..."

_ It’s your fault. _ The voice was now smaller, more faint.  _ You did this. _

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m so sorry--”

A small child was in the distance, walking towards her, her large eyes filled with tears. It was Emma, in the same clothes as the night their parents died.

_ “How could you do this to me?” _ her heartbroken voice whispered.  _ “How could you manipulate my memory like that?” _ The bags under her eyes were crimson from crying.  _ “Why, sissy? I thought you loved me.” _

“I do love you,” she said wiping her face. “I love you more than anything--”

Emma did not appear to be listening, instead taking another meticulous step towards her, the whites of her eyes turning black, her voice demonic.  _ “IT’S YOUR FAULT THEY DIED!” _

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I had to-I had to kill them--or else--”

Emma’s little body faded into the darkness, two new ones appearing in the mist. A middle aged couple, a man with handsome bronze skin and jet black hair, and a woman with a soft round face and almond shaped eyes. Rosalind choked back more tears as she watched her parents cry silently. 

_ “How did you become like this?”  _ her mother wept.  _ “This is not how we raised you.” _

_ “A murderer, Rosalind?”  _ her father cut in.  _ “Please tell me this isn’t who you are.” _

“I had to!” she squeaked. “H-he hurt me--other people hurt me--”

_ “That doesn’t make you better than them.” _

“I’m not a mur--I’m not--I changed--”

_ “Have you?” _ her mother inquired.  _ “Or have Cruciatus Curses always been easy for you?” _

“No--I’m sorry--” she stepped forward in attempt to touch the figures of her parents, only for them to evaporate. She looked around in a circle, her surroundings now pitch black. Faint footsteps approached her, a narrow beam of light following what appeared to be a teenager with familiar features. The figure stopped several paces ahead of her, fog circling their legs. Longer hair, no physical or psychological scars, no premature wrinkles lining her forehead: it was fifteen-year-old Rosalind, eyes stained red.

_ “You weren’t supposed to end up like this,” _ she said, voice strained.  _ “You come from a loving family who did nothing but give you everything they didn’t have. But look at you,” _ a tear ran down her face.  _ “Angry, violent, manipulative. A disgrace.” _

“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed, hearing more footsteps approaching. “I’ve been angry for so long--”

_ “And that’s the problem isn’t it? You hate yourself from what happened with him and used it as justification for all the terrible things that you did. You’re a victim of your own anger. All the bad choices you’ve made are a result of the pain you refuse to process.” _ Her younger self cocked her head to the side, several bodies surrounding her including her parents, her sister, everyone who had been a victim of hers, all yelling expletives at her.  _ “Stop using that as an excuse for everything. You were meant to be so much better.”  _

Rosalind took a step back, stumbling on what felt like a log. She fell to her knees, the words of her younger self echoing in her ears, her chest heaving, as all the bodies faded into the distance, Sal, Rodolphus, and the rest of the group appearing before her eyes. Her head rolled onto the ground, her body sinking into the brook. A hand jerked her arm upwards, pulling her body onto the cold, hard land. Voices were murmuring around her when she realized that the potion had worn off, the full effects of the freezing temperatures making her teeth chatter. 

“Interesting,” Sal’s voice said, hushing the others in an instant. He snapped his fingers, motioning one of his cronies to fetch a blanket, draping it over her shoulders. “Describe it to me.” 

Rosalind was still shaking, her eyelashes frosting over. “It was the worst pain of my life,” she said quietly. 

“What did you see?” Sal pressed, lowering himself to Rosalind’s height. He sounded eager. “Things you’ve seen before?”

She nodded slowly, pushing fogs of clouds out of her mouth. “Things I’ve done. My worst memories...all played out in front of me as I watched myself do them. Dead family members talking to me.”

“Ah, so it worked even better than I had anticipated.” He sounded pleased, standing to his full height and leaving Rosalind sitting in the snow. “Excellent. That’ll be all for now. You can find your way to camp for bed.” He inhaled a puff of cigar, his guards walking in unison with him back to camp, their footsteps crunching beneath the snow. 

A silent body helped Rosalind back up, wrapping the blanket tightly around her. Rodolphus Lestrange was staring down at her, his lips pursed. “Don’t say a word.” Once again he led her back to the camp, his arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t move,” he growled under his breath, as they passed by several men who were gawking at her lustfully. Her eyes felt glazed and she did as told, walking mindlessly until they arrived at a small tent. Inside it was quaint, with one full sized cot and a fire crackling in the corner, the grey walls looking black in the night. 

“That,” Rodolphus continued as he began throwing his soaked clothes onto the floor, “was bloody terrible.” He grabbed a tin of hot chocolate, curling her fingers around the mug. “You saw everything you’ve done, didn’t you? All the bad deeds?”

Rosalind nodded, attempting to take a sip of the hot chocolate. “I saw myself get r--get assaulted again. I was reliving it.” She swallowed the knot in her throat, letting the can warm her hands. “But I also saw my sister. The night our parents died. She saw the whole thing…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes adjusted to the low light. “I saw my parents too. Telling me I wasn’t supposed to end up like this. I was supposed to be g-good.”

“But somewhere down the line you made the wrong choices.”

She nodded once, the hot chocolate sloshing over. “It’s one thing experiencing it once. But to see it played out like that--I felt like it showed me who I really am.”

Rodolphus frowned, resting his elbows on his knees, facing her. “You’re wrong.”

She lifted her head, her frown meeting his. “What?”

“I said you’re wrong. That’s who you were.” Her brow remained unwavered as the Death Eater sighed. “Look. Something terrible happened to you and you used that to justify your anger instead of dealing with it. So you did your own terrible things. Then more tragedy struck and you knew you had to change your ways. You haven’t killed anyone since the night your parents died.”

“How do you know--”

“You’re a lousy Occlumens, love.” 

“Oh,” she said staring down at her tin of hot chocolate. “That’s true.” 

He ran his hands through his long hair, fixing his own mug. “So keep going. Face whatever these demons are.” He raised his mug to her.  _ “Salud, _ as your people say.”

She managed a small smile.  _ “Salud.”  _ They sipped their drinks, Rosalind eyeing him, surprised again by his demeanor. “Why’d you do it?” she finally asked. “Why’d you turn yourself in knowing you’ll go back to Azkaban?”

“Because,” he said setting his mug down. “What kind of father would I be if I spent the rest of my days in prison?” He leaned back, his Dark Mark peeking through his sleeves. “I’d rather go in for a reduced amount of time now that he’s young than spend his entire life on the run.” He broke their gaze, lost in a memory. “I can’t fix what I did when I was with Bellatrix. But I can decide to be a good father for him.” 

“You’re full of surprises, Rodolphus Lestrange.”

He grinned. “And our marriage has only just begun.” 

**This was an intense chapter to write. Being a sexual assault survivor myself, I tried to balance the line of not being too graphic. Thank you so much to those that have been reading, these next few chapters will have much more action in them.**

**Next chapter: House of Wolves.**


	31. House of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Help me."

**Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.**

“—pathetic excuses for human beings! The senseless violence, the extortion, the drugs and the kidnapping and the killings—for what? This isn’t an accurate representation of our people!” a fuming Rosalind cried. “We’re humble and kind and hard working—not these _pendejadas!”_ She paced around the tent, her wand sparking. “And I’m tired of being locked up in here!” She turned on her heel for the entrance flap of the tent, which was stitched shut with a flick of the wand. 

“You can’t be out there alone.”

She sat in the cot, sighing into her hands. She had given up on telling the pair she could take care of herself. 

“You’re not anyone’s equal here,” Rodolphus said gruffly. “There are no other women walking around freely and you know exactly why.”

She shot him a glare, resting her hand underneath her chin. “We still don’t know which ones are and aren’t wizards.” They had identified the pattern of one wizard for every Muggle gang member, or who appeared to be a Muggle. Outside of the potion making and drugs, magic was kept at a minimum. “Or what all the potions are. Can Muggles brew potions?”

Dawlish shrugged. “I s’ppose they could. The ingredients need to be magical for most potions, not the potioneer.” 

“So what are they making? More drugs? Or potions like that filth Sal gave me my first night?” 

“I think they’re experimenting,” Rodolphus added. “On anything that can turn them a profit or get them high.”

Rosalind scowled. It was a possibility. The magic was kept hidden within the tents or taken within the forest. Sal wasn’t keen on giving out too much information or being a showoff. 

“There are heaps of young children here too,” said Dawlish. “But none of the Hogwarts students.”

“Kids are more impressionable than adults,” she said darkly. “Sometimes they’re taken as compensation when a family can’t pay the maras. They take a son and turn him into one of them, or they take a daughter and make her a member’s wife. It’s disgusting.” 

“I just want my son back,” Dawlish said into his mug of tea. “If he’s hurt—“ his voice trailed off, fading into the crackling fire. He was barely recognizable, with a thick, burly beard growing halfway down his neck, his eyes lined with worry. “I got word earlier that they’re moving people. They’re sending them to another camp. We have to make sure at least one of us makes it out.”

"What?" Rosalind asked, putting her boots on. "Why are they moving people?" 

"The full moon," Dawlish said as Rodolphus began to clothe himself. "It's in a few days. I think they're moving the werewolves." 

"You mean they've been here all along?" Rodolphus grunted. "How the fuck did we not see them?"

Dawlish shook his head. "Dunno. They keep them with groups of Muggles and wizards so they don't run off. But I'm thinking they're moving them to where the kids are."

"Why? To scare them or bite them?" Rosalind asked. 

"I'm not sure. I just heard Sal say it's time to move them," he continued with a grim look on his face, his brow lines deepening. "We don't have much time." The three wizards took a long hard look at each other, the tension growing between them. "I think you two have a better chance of getting in. You're a known Death Eater, Rodolphus, they trust you. And Rosalind they know what you're capable of."

"But how are we going to warn the Ministry if something happens? Neither of us can produce a Patronous." 

Dawlish pointed at their left forearms. "The Dark Mark. If Rodolphus casts it then all the living Death Eaters will come because they'll feel it but we can't have that. You have to conjure it since you don't have a real Dark Mark." Rosalind stared at him dumbfounded as Rodolphus nodded in agreement. "I already informed Harry about it so they're expecting it." He jerked his head as movement was visible outside the tent. "Let's go. We don't have much time." 

The three wizards stepped out of the tent into the madness. It had been a few days since her arrival and she quickly learned Sal was a master manipulator, feeding selective information to his cronies to make them feel special in order to do jobs for him. She looked around for Sal, who had to be in the largest tent with his cronies. She spotted him as he was leaving, putting on her best, most scheming face.

"What's going on?" she asked innocently as the stout man whispered an order to one of his men. "Are we going somewhere?" 

Sal grinned at her excitement. "Some of us are. Not all." He pulled a cigar from his pocket, the man next to him lighting it. "We have business to do elsewhere." He eyed her, as she didn't say anything, switching his tongue to Spanish. "Are you interested?"

Rosalind flashed a smile. "Of course." She stood slightly in front of him, feeling the burning of his eyes on her. "What do you need me to do?" 

At this Sal hesitated, taking a long draw of cigar. "I like your enthusiasm," he grinned. "We're moving the beasts to another location. The full moon is coming so we don't want them around our men. They have work to do elsewhere." 

"More recruiting?" she asked curiously. "I thought we already had good numbers, sir." 

Sal shrugged, inhaling the smoke from his cigar. "We do. But a little chaos never hurt anyone." 

"So we're just going to let them loose? I don't understand.”

"Bless you, trying to keep up," he laughed as Rosalind bit her tongue. "They're hungry. We give them certain locations to feast. We track them so we always know where they are." He took another drag of cigar. "We have some fresh young meals for them too."

Rosalind's stomach lurched at the thought. _“Como?”_

Sal grinned, a malicious glean in his eye. "I don't know if I can trust you."

Rosalind frowned playfully. "Oh c'mon Sal, don’t do that to me.”

He shrugged, sighing. "What do you know about Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts?" she asked surprised. "Not much, I didn't go there. Why do you ask?" 

"Because we have a lot of fresh meat we captured a week back. Caught them at Hogsmeade Station where they're dropped off." He tapped his cigar dramatically, the ashes burning the snow. "They're not just any kids though, most of them have parents in the Ministry." 

Rosalind's heart began to beat through her chest as he gave her more information. "So what do you plan on doing with them?" 

Sal shrugged again. "Who knows, ask for ransom maybe. Make a deal with them. Might even kill them or feed them to the werewolves," he laughed at the last suggestion. 

Rosalind's stomach lurched. "I'm sure the Ministry would pay a pretty price to have those kids back." 

"Of course they would, who wouldn't?" he laughed at her remark. "Doesn't mean they have to be alive though." One of his men interrupted them, asking for directions. Rosalind's breakfast bubbled in her throat. "Do me a favor, would you? Go with Sanchez. He tends to fuck things up." 

She smiled with pursed lips, following the man named Sanchez. He was a tiny bloke, barely taller than her. He sized her up immediately, licking his lips. "You wanna go out back to my tent and get to know each other better?"

She scrunched her face at the little man in front of her in disgust. “Do you want me to chop your fucking ear off, Mudblood?” She shot a spark of electricity to his knees, noting the lack of wand. The word felt disgusting coming out of her mouth, but it was exactly as the others spoke to the Muggles when they stepped out of line. Sanchez jumped at the shock of pain, his frail shoulders pinching into his body, a pang of guilt retching in her chest. 

They trekked through the snow, an area of the woods that was relatively unexplored by humans. The air was much more still, almost suffocating with their breath, the snow flailing to the ground whimsically. Several mounds of dirt and snow surrounded them, along with rickety shacks, their frail boards moaning in the wind. 

“What is this place?” Rosalind asked Sanchez, who was signing to a man with a group of teenagers, his head tattoos glistening in the moonlight. 

“Where we have to babysit the damn animals,” he said grudgingly as a group of teenagers moved nearby in a single file line. “It’s almost time for them to transform.” 

“And then what?” Rosalind asked, almost unable to keep the strain from her voice. 

“Depends, we let them out for a few hours and they come home with more,” he said nonchalantly. “We bring them back to the main ground and Sal decides what to do from there.” 

“Right,” she replied, taking a closer look around. “When are we letting them out?” 

Sanchez shrugged. “Don’t know, they’ll transform pretty soon. They stay in their dens a lot of the time sleeping or whatever the hell they do. The wizards have some type of tracking shit on them, so they can’t get away. Couple have tried and never did again after we were done with them.” He chuckled as if it was a light-hearted manner. A tongue clicked in their direction, another one of Sal’s men. He motioned for Sanchez in a crude, confusing hand gesture, something Rosalind hadn’t gotten quite the hang of yet. What appeared to be the youngest group of the lot approached them, Sanchez lifting their forearms to check the numbers engraved into them. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine...there were much more than she initially thought and were younger than she expected--they were school age, their worried faces drenched in ratty clothing, torn from the many times they had transformed. They held their heads down, staring feebly at their dirty, crusted feet. Two young girls remained at the end--twenty-seven and twenty-nine--one much younger than the other. The elder had what appeared to have once been beautiful, curled blonde hair, a quaint bow resting on the back of her head, a tiny glimpse of the life she had before. The younger had mats of dreaded dark brown hair covering her face, purple thumbprints etched beneath her eyes. Her nails were yellow, decaying and claw like, her face gaunt. 

Rosalind stood behind Sanchez as he marked off the people in front of him. She eyed the two girls at the end of the line, an itch of familiarity bothering her. The young girl glanced up at her, her hollow eyes meeting hers, mouthing two words: help me. Rosalind jolted her head back in surprise, making the connection: Adriana Holmes was standing in front of her. 

**Did you forget about Adriana, the girl from way back in chapter three? You’ll find out who the other girl is soon, don’t worry :)**

**Next chapter: The Sharpest Lives.**


	32. The Sharpest Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get out."

**Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.**

Rosalind did a double take, looking over at Sanchez then back at Adriana. There was no way she could have recognized her, they hadn’t seen each other in months and her features were different. But as a dirt-stained tear began streaming down the girl’s cheek she realized that she hadn’t recognized her at all--it was merely a desperate plea for anyone who would listen. 

Rosalind muttered a quick spell, causing Adriana’s calf to bleed profusely, her loud cries annoying Sanchez. Before he could act on her, Rosalind took charge. “Let me handle it, I know how to fix wounds,"she said in an icy tone as the Muggle looked annoyed but knew he couldn't cross her. “These animals are so sensitive.” Sanchez repeated her statement as she grabbed Adriana by the arm into a secluded area of the forest, casting Silencing Charms around them. She forced the girl to sit on a large rock, standing inches from her face. 

“Is your name Adriana Holmes, of Harrow Hill?” she demanded, speaking quickly. 

The young girl looked astonished, her eyes darting back and forth. “H-how do you know that?” she whispered. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Rosalind Morana, I work for the Ministry,” she said in a low voice. “Do you remember me? I was there with my partner the day you were--”

“Yes, yes of course I remember!” the girl exclaimed, almost forgetting about the cut on her calf. “What are you doing here? Why do you look different? Are you here to save us?” 

She hesitated; they were not exactly to save them per se, because no one knew they were there. “Yes, and others. I was given a disguise and I’m here undercover. They’ve kidnapped kids and we don’t know where they’re hiding them. Do you know anything?” 

The girl shook her head. “No...we heard of the plan but don’t know much of it. All I know is that they want to let us lose when we transform, hoping the Ministry will come. They want us to bite them.” 

“Why?” Rosalind pressed. “What’s the point?”

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged, her shoulders crunching from the dirt caked on her skin. “They want to riot. They want chaos.” Her eyes shifted to her wound, Rosalind mumbling a healing spell, her skin healing into a clean scar. “But they tend to not keep their word.” 

“What do you mean? How did you get here?” 

“That girl, the one with the bow in her hair...she got me to leave St. Mungo’s. She was my mystery visitor. She promised that they would be able to help me, that they would accept me for what I now was,” her voice broke as she recalled the memory. “But it was all a lie. They lied to both of us. They said that they would take care of us, that they were part of a movement to convoke the Ministry to accept werewolves as people, not classify them as beings--they said we would have equal rights as if we weren’t infected.” She over enunciated the last word, like it was a disease. “But they keep pushing everything back. They’re terrible to us...they put tracking spells on us so we can’t escape. They let us out on the full moon to wreak havoc, to tease and bite people to bring them here. We lie to them so we bring in numbers, otherwise we get tortured.” Her voice faded as she wiped tears from her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry Adriana,” Rosalind said in a somber tone. “We’ll get you out of here, I promise.” She wiped away the girls face with her cloak. “Is there anything else that you know?” 

Adriana shook her head, sniffing her nose. “No. No I’m sorry I couldn’t be any more of a help.” Her voice was frail, as if she hadn't spoken in days. 

“It’s alright, you’ve helped a lot,” she said reassuringly. “But there’s something I have to do to protect you and I know you won't like it.”

“Wh-what’s that?” the girl asked nervously. 

“I have to make sure you won't remember this. I don’t want them to grow suspicious and torture it out of you.” Her voice was slow and steady, the same voice she used on Emma when she was lecturing her. 

“O-oh,” Adriana said in a lower voice, knowing what was coming. “Is it going to hurt?”

Rosalind shook her head, forcing a smile. “No it won’t. But we have to act quickly.” She raised her wand to the front of the girl’s forehead, taking a deep breath. _“Obliviate.”_ The girl’s eyes rolled to the back of her head along with her neck before snapping open, looking delirious. 

“Wha-where am I? What’s going on?” she asked scared, glaring at Rosalind. “Who are you?” 

“Back away werewolf before I hurt you,” Rosalind ordered in a painfully convincing voice, her wound stitched up. “Go to your line. Don’t make a sound.” 

The terrified girl complied, her eyes quivering for a fraction of a second, running back to her group with her blonde friend. It hurt Rosalind to be cruel, but she couldn’t risk blowing their cover. She walked back over to Sanchez, trying to make sense of the new information in her head. She had to talk to Rodolphus and Dawlish, but they had no way of communicating with each other. And it was too early to conjure the Dark Mark--there had to be another way to find out what the big plan with the Ministry was. 

A cold breeze swept through the woods, causing Rosalind to clutch her cloak tighter to her chest. She watched Sanchez, Morales, Garcia and others bark orders at one another. What appeared to be a petty argument captured Rosalind's attention: she could never distinguish who was the wizard among them. Sanchez snatched a stick from Morales' hand, whilst Morales responding by shoving him, an orange jet stabbing him in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Rosalind ran over to them, pointing her wand at Sanchez. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, grabbing the stick to examine it. It was once a handsome wand, now cracked at the seams from the abuse it had received. "Whose is this? Who owns it?" 

The men glanced at each other before answering. "It's ours." 

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "I know that, _pendejo,_ I'm asking which one of you."

Garcia gave her a quizzical look. "We share it. It's for the three of us."

"The three of--?" her jaw dropped for a moment before she composed herself. Instead she asked, "Who gave it to you? I thought you were all Muggles."

"We are," Sanchez butt in. "Sal gave it to us. The more werewolves we catch and get bitten the more wands we have. We take them so they don't escape. He said we're gonna learn how to use magic once we all have our own." 

Rosalind's brow knitted together, almost disappearing into her hairline. What was Sal thinking, giving wands to Muggles? They had no clue what they were doing. "And then what?" she sneered, keeping her character. "Doesn't even look like you've learned anything." 

"Yes we have," Morales said stung, grabbing the wand. 

"Oh yeah? From what, all your little charms lessons?" she laughed, gleaning from their disappointed expressions. 

"No, from listening to all you arrogant wizards," Garcia grunted. "Thinking you're so high and mighty because you carry a magic stick." 

Rosalind smiled, up for a challenge. "Let's see how much you've learned then." She stood, facing him directly. "Do your worst." 

The men eyed each other, nodding in agreement. Garcia held the wand to eye level, taking a deep breath, pointing it at Rosalind's chest. _“Estupefy!”_ He closed his eyes awaiting the magic, only to be disappointed: nothing.

Rosalind grinned, relieved--Muggles with wands was a dangerous combination. It was the equivalent of a wizard flying a plane without magic. "I think the spell you mean is this," she said with a dry, sinister laugh. _“Stupefy!”_ A jet of red light hit Garcia square in the chest, knocking him into the ground. She walked over his body as he groaned in pain, the other two men stepping back. 

"Just a little tidbit of information," she said in a low voice, inches from his face. "You will never be more powerful than a wizard." She stared at him, huffing at her win. For a moment she contemplated whether to help him back on his feet or not but decided against it, as his companions did instead. 

"S-sorry," Garcia stammered, unable to look her in the eyes. "Won't happen again." 

Rosalind smiled, cocking her head to the side, looking at them with a sultry gaze. "Good," she said in a sweet voice, almost forgetting what she needed to do. "Where's Sal? I need to speak with him about something urgent." Morales pointed in the direction of the camp they were at earlier, giving her directions. She spun on her heel, beginning the walk back to camp, silently fuming. 

_I can't believe this,_ she thought to herself. _He's really made them think that they can be wizards._ She shook her head, sighing deeply. He's got them wound tight under his finger. She had to find a way to talk to Rodolphus and Dawlish--not only were these men armed and dangerous but they were sharing wands too. That magic is irresponsible, unpredictable, and dangerous--either nothing would happen, or pandemonium would erupt from the explosions. She quickened her pace as she contemplated whether she should speak with Dawlish and Rodolphus first or Sal, but they had warned her not to see him alone. Another burst of bitter wind swept her as she approached the camp, sensing that someone was behind her. 

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon, Esme.” His voice wasn’t surprised or accusing, merely observing. 

Esme. That was what her mother was called. It was strange to hear it out loud again. She put on another fake smile, turning to see Sal in front of her, cigar in hand. The only reason they were on a first name basis was because she was a woman--the men had the respect of having their last names used, but she didn’t receive the same equal treatment. In their eyes she was barely above an object. 

Rosalind let out a laugh. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Do you have a minute to talk? It’s awfully cold out here.” 

“Of course.” Sal stepped forward, ducking into his tent, the opening flap smacking her in the face. He nodded towards a rickety chair for Rosalind to sit down as he stood--a power play. She was already shorter than him, and the chair exaggerated their height difference. He was in no mood to negotiate. 

“So,” he said casually, pouring a cup of coffee for himself, ignoring her needs. “What’s going on?” 

“Well,” Rosalind began, watching the man sip his coffee slowly. “We’ve moved all the werewolves, they’re waiting for the full moon in their dens. Sanchez, Morales and Garcia were arguing though, they tried to Stun me, with a wand they were all sharing,” she laughed as Sal raised a dark bushy brow. “Which got me thinking...wouldn’t we be more powerful, more of a threat to the Ministry, if we had stronger numbers? By stronger numbers I mean more Death Eaters, wizards who know their way around Dark creatures and Dark Magic, who wouldn’t get into petty fights--”

“We already tried that,” Sal interrupted, unimpressed. “We broke them out of that wizard prison Azkaban even, and look at how they repaid us. They double-crossed us and ran, like cowards.” He set his coffee on the table, the rusted metal clanking loudly. “The only real men from that group are Rosier and Lestrange, who have made up for running and paid their respects.” His arms were now crossed, his stance wide: he was challenging her. “Why the fuck would we ask them for help?” Rosier was the name they had decided on Dawlish, a known Death Eater with an unknown face. 

Rosalind’s lip quivered, her mouth slightly open. “I’m not saying ask for help, exactly, I just mean that sending Rodolphus and Rosier to recruit more Death Eaters might be a good idea,” she said nervously as he shortened the gap between them. 

"And why should I," he said slowly, taking meticulous, deliberate steps closer to her, arms still crossed, "should I listen to the opinion of a woman?" He said the last word like it was a parasite, less than human. He grinned, stepping even closer to her. "Are you trying to tell me how to operate my men?" 

It was a rhetorical question. Rosalind shifted her eyes away from him, breaking their eye contact. "No I'm not it was just a suggestion--"

"Oh a suggestion," he laughed, basking in how uncomfortable Rosalind was quickly becoming. "I didn't know your pretty little head could come up with suggestions." He caressed the side of her cheek, his hot, coffee-stained breath filling her nostrils. "Do me a favor, would you?" He said in a tone that meant he wanted her to look at him in the eyes. She froze, as she always did when she was afraid, gripping her wand tightly underneath her cloak. "Never talk to me like that ever again." He loosened his glare, and for a moment she thought she was free. Rosalind winced at the sight of his hand, his palm thudding across her cheek, jerking her head forty-five degrees.

She sat there, beneath him, doing everything in her power not to cry. She wanted to hex him--burn him--for slapping her. But instead of crying for help or fighting back, she glared at Sal like she had never glared at anyone before, each daring the other to speak. 

"Get out." 

Rosalind ran out holding her breath, clutching her face, fighting tears. You’re so stupid, Rosalind, she couldn’t help think. He doesn’t see you as--

"The fuck are you doing out here alone?" a gruff voice barked. 

She stopped in her tracks with a deep sigh. "Nothing," she said without turning around. "Where's Rosier?" 

"Back at camp, why?" Rodolphus eyed her, stepping in front of her. "What the hell happened to you?" 

Rosalind shook her head, muttering something about the cold. "I needed to ask him something, come with me?" Her voice was strained, painfully high. The Death Eater nodded, walking a step behind her. She clutched her cloak, spotting Dawlish by their tent, motioning her head to follow them inside. 

"What's going on?" Dawlish asked, shaking snow off his boots. "What happened to you?" He noticed the red mark lingering on Rosalind's cheek. 

She shook her head, tears faltering off her face. "N-nothing I needed to talk to you two about something--"

Rodolphus cut in, his face angry. "Did you go see Sal by yourself? That's where you came from isn't it?" 

"Yeah, I was looking for you two--"

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, glaring at her. "What the fuck did I tell you about going around alone? He is not your friend." The tone in his voice caused her to jump. "The only reason he's been nice to you is because he thinks you're a Death Eater, but now that he knows you're scared of him he might be second guessing himself. What the hell were you thinking talking to him without anyone around?" 

Rosalind stared at him, taken aback. "I-I don't know. I was looking for you two but he found me first." 

"Well what happened?" Dawlish asked concerned, reaching into his robes for a tonic for her face. "Did you find new information?"

She nodded, recounting her conversation with Adriana and what happened with the Muggles. Both men stared at her in disbelief, piecing the information together. "He's really told them that they'll become wizards?" Dawlish asked dumbfounded. "And they believe that?"

"Yeah well, it sounds promising doesn't it? Take a wizard's wand, hope some magic comes out of it and boom--you're a wizard. They don't know any better." 

"I can't believe he would sink that low," Rodolphus scoffed. "Muggles trying to become wizards? Fucking ridiculous." 

"You have to remember where they're from," Rosalind continued. "They haven't had the best life. Anything would be an improvement." 

"But the werewolves," Dawlish cut in. "They were never here to play the villain then, were they?" 

Rosalind shook her head. "They don't want to be here. They were given false promises and had their wands stolen. But they see no other way out. They're just...following orders," she finished, remembering the conversation she had with Rodolphus. "But we still don't know where the kids are or what they're planning on doing to them. Sal seems to change his mind a lot."

Dawlish sighed, Rodolphus tugging on his beard. The silence was heavy; they were at a standstill. "When's the full moon, tomorrow night?" Dawlish asked as Rosalind nodded. "We'll have to summon the Ministry then. We have no other choice. If we wait until after the werewolves are let out then we'll lose them, they'll be feeding and biting in villages before the Ministry gets here. It'll have to be just as it starts rising; we'll have the best chance of helping them then." 

"And the kids?" 

Dawlish ran a hand through his receding hairline. "I don't know. We'll have to figure that out afterwards. We're not any closer to finding them than before and we're running out of time. He sat in the metal chair, sighing deeply, facing Rosalind. "Can you do that tomorrow night at dusk? Conjure the Dark Mark?" 

Rosalind took a quick look at Rodolphus, then at Dawlish, feeling the grooves in her left forearm from the skull and snake tattoo. "Yeah. I can do that." 

"Good," he said standing back on his feet. "I've got to head out--see if I find more information." He threw his cloak over his shoulders, nodding at his colleagues. "Until tomorrow." He didn't wait for them to mutter their goodbyes, leaving the tent with a hole of dread. 

Rosalind bit her tongue at the awkward silence, sitting on the cot as Rodolphus glared at her with his arms crossed, like a parent scolding a child. "You're smarter than that, Morana." 

Rosalind pursed her lips, avoiding his gaze. "I know." 

"What'd you do after he did it?" he asked curiously. 

"Nothing," she said bitterly. 

"What did you want to do?" 

"I wanted to fucking kill him!” she bellowed, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s everything I despise in a person!”

The Death Eater grinned. "Under any other circumstances you should have. But," he yawned, stretching on the cot. "It's a good thing you didn't." 

"I know," she repeated, observing him. He was much different than the man she met in Azkaban. "Why do you care?" she finally asked. "About what happened between me and Sal just now? You weren't like that at all when we first met." 

Rodolphus scoffed. "When you were with Draco and Potter walking through the corridors? What'd you think I was trying to do to you, hurt you?" He rolled his eyes at the thought. "I just wanted your wand, like Potter said. I'm not an _animal._ But of course I wanted you to think that." He closed his eyes as he stretched his legs. "Besides, Daphne cares about you and if she knew I let something happen to you I'd never hear the end of it." 

Rosalind almost smiled at the thought. Just a few short months ago she questioned Daphne's motives, thinking she was using her as a pawn. But they had grown close, forming a friendship that extended to Ares as well. She stared at the dozing Death Eater, arms outstretched behind his head. "I think our marriage is off to an interesting start.”

He grinned, his eyes closed. “Just you wait, love. I’ll knock the boots off of you soon enough.”

***

An icy drop of melted snow rolled off a tree, plopping onto Rosalind's nose, jolting her into a shiver. She had awoken early to head to the dens where Sanchez and Morales were close by, mostly to make sure they weren't harassing any of the kids inside. She hadn’t been able to speak with Adriana again since she wiped her memory--something that was still plaguing her. 

Sanchez, Morales, and Garcia were huddled around a small campfire, roasting coffee beans and frying plantains, passing around a pipe. Her stomach growled; it had been years since she had had coffee with plantains, one of her favorites. But she wasn’t going to befriend them. They were signing to each other and other passing gang members, much to her distaste. She hadn’t been able to identify which hand signals meant what, and she couldn’t attempt Legilimency on someone who wasn’t directly in front of her. 

It was a long, slow, ominous day: she spent the majority of her time trying to sort out the codes they had between each other and penetrating their minds, which were both difficult; she was often interrupted, as they frequently asked her how to perform spells when they were sharing the wands. She purposefully gave them false information, hoping that was safer than them trying a real spell. She hadn’t seen Rodolphus, she hadn’t seen Dawlish, and she hadn’t seen Sal either--she was half hoping he was busy with someone else. 

It was late afternoon, and Rosalind was sitting at the bottom of a tree, observing the soon-to-be-werewolves: their nails were yellowing, their mouths salivating, their breathing dog-like; they were behaving more like animals the closer they got to the full moon. She pitied them. The majority were teenagers and young adults, fallen into a trap of false promises and the hope that they would be accepted into the wizarding world. It was a cruel plan, targeting the lonely and rejected, but deviously brilliant--these were the people no one would miss, that no one cared about. The gang members were the same, having came from poor, rural neighborhoods, thinking that they were on a path to glory. Either that or they were scared into submission, the only other option being death. 

A murmuring from the group of men encroached her ears--they were walking in her direction, a roll of parchment in their hands. “What’s going on?” she asked with a smudge of authority. 

“We’ve got new orders,” Garcia said. “Sal gave us a list of the names of the kids they got at that wizard school. He wants us to let them out on some field. Let the werewolves have them.” 

“What?” she squeaked, jumping up. “When? He didn’t tell me that,” she finished annoyed, her stomach in knots. They were running out of time. 

Morales glanced up at the pink and purple spotted sky, shrugging. “Don’t know. Whenever the moon’s up.” 

“Where are they?” she demanded, starting to panic. The men pointed over the horizon, mentioning that they were going to get them soon. She ordered them to head over, thinking quickly. As much as she wanted to go with them she knew she had to stay. She had a job to do. 

The men left her with the soon-to-be-wolves, disappearing into the thickening darkness, swallowed by night. She looked around with a crazed look in her eye, making sure no one was around. She lifted up her robes, exposing the black tattoo on her left forearm. She was breathing heavily, her heart thudding against her chest. She jabbed her wand into her slithering tattoo, bracing herself for what was about to come. _“Morsmordre!”_

A jet of green light, a flame smoking into the night sky, molding in a giant, gruesome skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth: for the first time since the Second Wizarding War, the Dark Mark was alive once more. 

**The action is heating up! There’s a lot of action in the next chapter :) Thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: The Dark Side of the Moon, Again.**


	33. The Dark Side of the Moon, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you going to kill me?"

The Dark Mark--the Dark Lord’s mark--hung in the sky like a ghost, reminding the world below of the terrors that had occurred because of its creator. 

Time slowed as the chaos around them ensued: curious passerby glanced up at the night sky, observing the strange skull and snake omen; screams were heard in the distance calling for friends and loved ones; howling animals sensed the danger. Rosalind’s breathing was heavy, taken aback at what she had done. They were running out of time. 

Faint pops and loud cracks surrounded her, several members of the Ministry and Order Apparating before her eyes: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Bowen, the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, Dean, even Kingsley Shacklebolt--they were all there, waiting desperately for the information that she had.

“Blimey, I never thought I’d have to see that again,” Ron’s voice pinned at the sight of the Mark, the green aurora illuminating their faces. 

“It’s terrible,” Hermione said in a low voice. “That it had to come to this.” 

Harry Potter walked through the crowd, approaching Rosalind. “What’s been going on?” he asked in a desperate voice. “Where are Rodolphus and Dawlish? He was only able to partially brief me.” 

“They are at another part of the camp, about ten minutes away,” she began as Harry groaned. “But they’re here--the werewolves I mean, most of them, in these dens,” she pointed at the mounds of dirt, the growling crescendoing. “They’re the ones who have been responsible for all the attacks in the recent months. But the thing is they don’t want to be here, they were told that they were going to go to the Ministry for them to have better rights, being classified as Beings and all,” she continued as everyone’s ears perked in her direction. “And they’re taking their wands away, that’s why they haven’t left. They target the vulnerable, whether Squib, wizard or Muggle, they want people no one will miss. Once they’re here, the gang members take their wands and share them between themselves. They’ve been told that they can become wizards if they practice hard enough.” 

“Hold on a moment,” the Minister of Magic’s booming voice shot through. “The head of these people has Muggles convinced that they can become wizards by taking wands? Who would believe that?”

“The vulnerable,” Rosalind pressed, annoyed they weren't getting her point. “These people don’t know any better--anything would be an improvement from where they’re from. Sal Amaya--the man in charge--he has them under his thumb. And all the kids they kidnapped from Hogwarts are about to be fresh werewolf meat. They just sent men over to grab them so the werewolves can chase them down and hunt them,” she finished quickly in a long, harsh breath, waiting to hear orders from Harry and Kingsley. 

The Minister and the Head Auror glanced at each other, as the remaining members gasped in disbelief. Harry sent Ron and Hermione to grab people from the dens, the scared kids and young adults crawling out hesitantly. Adriana was one of the first to crawl out, with her blonde-haired friend closely behind her, bow placed delicately in her hair. 

“Won-Won?” she said in a feeble voice, spotting a familiar ginger-haired man. 

“L-Lavender?” Ron sputtered, face pale as he had seen a ghost. “You’re alive? What happened to you?”

“Fenfir Greyback bit me at the Battle of Hogwarts,” she said shamefully, grabbing his arm for support out of the den. “I couldn't go home, not after that--I ended up finding a pack to join and I ended up here.” She scrunched her face, eyes swelling with tears. “It’s been t-t-terrible!” she cried, throwing herself into her ex-boyfriend’s arms, Hermione frowning as she helped others, hurrying them out before the clouds uncovered the moon. Before Lavender could get in another word, she was removed by one of the members of the Ministry on Harry’s orders. 

“H-Harry,” a worried Bowen spoke up, “the clouds are moving, we don’t have any more time--”

A piercing, primitive howling came from the thicket; the clouds had uncovered the full moon, its milky-white face beaming into the night. Lavender, Adriana and the other werewolves dropped to the ground, convulsing, their backs twitching in the most gruesome angles, about to transform. They were salivating heavily, backs hunching as their clothes ripped, their teeth elongated, their eyes glowing yellow. There was nothing they could do. It was impossible to stop a werewolf mid-transformation. 

“RUN!” 

In what felt like slow motion, dozens of bodies scattered throughout the darkening forrest, some seeking refuge, others attacking the intruders, others running away to warn the others at the remaining camps. It was a strange, violent sight: the closer the wizards got to the camps, the more weaponry was fired at them; bullets flew in their direction, some enchanted to chase their targets, others fired blindly; splatters of blood streamed out of bodies, knocking them back several feet. Booming cracks echoed throughout the night, the growls of famished werewolves searching for their next meals. 

Rosalind sprinted back to the camp in search of Sal to make sure he wasn’t running away like a coward. She needed to be alive. With her wand in hand, she looked around for any signs of him, searching the grounds and his tent. His guards were missing, most likely escorting him to safety or to fight. She slipped inside, the deafening battle noises gone. His tent was eerily quiet; she could hear her heartbeat echoing through her chest. Faint whispers floated from the corner of the tent, hushed voices inhaling sharply. Rosalind approached the edge of the tent slowly, her wand drawn. She lifted the flap quickly, bracing herself for what was hiding behind it. 

“N-no!”

Rosalind held her breath in surprise, staring blankly at the sight in front of her: half a dozen women, several younger than her were crowding in the corner, their tattered clothing barely covering them, their hands in the air in surrender. Their eyes were frightful, frozen in the thought of what Rosalind could do to them. Her heart broke when she realized what they were and how scared they were of another human being present. None of them were armed, none of them had wands or weapons, all were bound at the ankles. 

Rosalind’s hand shook as she lowered her wand, raising her hands to show she was weaponless. “Are you okay?” she asked slowly in plain English. The women’s frightened faces glanced at one another in confusion. They all stared at each other for a long moment, as Rosalind switched to Spanish. 

_“Estan lastimadas?”_ she asked as the majority of them shook their heads. “Do you know where you are?”

“No, we don’t know anything,” what looked like the oldest woman said. 

“What?” Rosalind struggled to hold her tongue. “You are in England. You have been here for quite some time,” she said hesitantly, not wanting to scare them. The women glanced at each other again, puzzled. Rosalind held out her hand to them, offering help. “My name is Rosalind Morana, I work for the government. I am here to help you.” She spoke in a soft, authoritative tone as she assisted the women to their feet, leading them to the tent’s opening, where they suddenly stopped.

The oldest shook her head. “No! We can’t go out there. H-he said that if we step outside something bad will happen to us.” 

“Oh,” Rosalind said crestfallen but unsurprised. The way this man had so many people brainwashed...it was ridiculous. “That’s not true. He’s lying to you,” she said reassuringly. “He said that so you would be afraid to leave. Everything will be okay, I promise. They won’t be able to hurt you anymore.” She smiled gently, waiting several seconds to gain their trust. She opened the tent to the skirmish outside, causing them to cower again. 

“No! No! Don’t be scared!” Rosalind said as she cast a protective shield charm around the group. “I’m here to get you out of here,” she said, thinking quickly. “Follow me!” She motioned for them to follow her as she deflected spells and bullets headed their way, leading them to another tent. The women held onto each other tightly as Rosalind ushered them into the tent she shared with Rodolphus. She cast more protective charms around the area as she urged the group to help themselves to biscuits and coffee. 

“Help yourselves, we are getting you out of here," she said as the women sat on the cot. Her heart ached at how worn down they were: famished, greying, frail, scared. She watched them closely, clearing your throat. "Are there others like you here?” she asked. “Do you know where they are?” They nodded their heads, saying they kept people hidden in tents. That’s what Rosalind was hoping for--she could look for Sal at the same time. She ordered the women to stay put, running to the next set of tents. Most were empty, some had men and women held inside that she aided back to her tent. But as many places that she looked into and as many of Sal’s men she battled, Sal was nowhere in sight. 

Rosalind doubled over, clutching a stitch in her side. She felt like she had been running for an hour back and forth with no results. There were so many people and so much chaos she had barely seen any of her colleagues. She stood at the top of a hill, observing the horrific, strange scenes playing out in front of her: wizard, Muggle and beast fought on, tearing each other’s throats. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was doing what they could to contain the werewolves and take them into a safe zone. At the edge of the forest was a familiar hunched back wielding something in his hand. Sal Amaya was without his guards. 

Rosalind sucked in a short breath, sprinting towards him. She was several yards away, watching as Sal twirled a machete in his right hand, a wand in his left, with a wand a few feet in front of him on the ground and another body, face sliced at the cheek. Angelina Johnson was on the wooded forest floor, deciding between grabbing her wand or risking another blow. Rosalind stood frozen, gripping her own wand tighter. Her heart began to beat rapidly, thudding against the knot in her throat. Sal raised the machete again, as Angelina winced. 

_Just let her die,_ the sinister voice whispered in her ear. _You know that he’ll do it._

_I can’t,_ she thought frantically, a wave of anger bubbling inside her. _That wouldn’t be right._

The voice laughed cruelly. _You don’t ever do the right thing. You do the selfish thing. It's who you are_. Rosalind snapped her eyes shut as Sal was ready to strike, his body covered in blood. _She took him away from you._

George. It was odd thinking about him in such a time. But Angelia wasn’t the reason they were together. She was. 

Rosalind’s arm was shaking as she found herself raising her wand at the pair’s direction. Her body began to shake in anger, but it wasn’t at Angelina. It was towards herself and at Sal--at herself for thinking an innocent person should die for her own personal gain, and at Sal for being a scum of the earth. 

_Let her die._

She pulled her elbow back, her wand at eye level, thrusting her arm forward, a flint shooting out, traveling the remaining meters and burying itself into the back of Sal’s shoulder, slowly wiggling its way through the other end of his body.

His body slammed onto the hard, icy ground, the snow painted in blood. A pair of murderous eyes met hers, burning with hatred, barely snatching the wand on the ground. 

“Fight back!” Rosalind screamed to the man on the ground. “Fight back _COBARDE!”_

Her breathing slowed as she waited for Sal to shoot her with a curse. He stuttered out a few words, but to no effect--not even a whisp of air. His hands were shaking as Rosalind whipped her wand in the direction of the snowy floor, the tip of her wand flaming as she stood over his body. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said as Angelina looked on, waiting for a opportunity to grab her wand. “You’re not even a wizard?” She looked at the wand in his hand and back at her own. “What the hell are you? A Squib?” Sal shook his head, half a grimace on his face. “ANSWER ME!” she yelled, the snow melting into a puddle from her flames. 

“My brother,” he replied in a low voice, forcing Rosalind to lean in closer. “He was a wizard." His voice was faint, his body fighting the curse. "Why couldn’t I be one too?” He growled, unable to move, the arrow still forcing its way through his shoulder, causing him to cry out.

“What?” she said dumbfounded. “How could you?” Sal groaned as the arrow finally exited through the front of his body, disintegrating into dust. He clutched the open wound as Rosalind’s wand continued to melt the snow, streaks of blood splattered all over his body from the skirmish. 

_“Y ahora que?”_ he said in a deadly calm. “Are you going to kill me?”

She stared at him, flames pulsing, her heart thundering against her chest. She despised Sal and everything he stood for, and even more so that she found the poor women trapped throughout the camp. If anyone deserved to die, it was Sal. Killing him would be too easy. 

She lowered her wand, the flames from the tip extinguishing. “You deserve a lot worse than death.”

She shook her head, finally looking over at Angelina, who was scrambling to grab her wand, giving Rosalind a crazed look before running off into the forest. A familiar scream jerked her head to the right. Her little sister Emma was running away from a man holding a machete, two others wielding rifles. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she sprinted in her direction-there was no way she could reach her in time. She Stunned the man with the rifle, forcing the bullets to lodge into his calf as he dropped his weapon. 

“Emmy--!”

But it was too late; flashes of silver and red clawed at one another as the little girl screamed in horror. A body knocked Rosalind over, standing in front of Emma, shielding her, deflecting the bullets that were ricocheting around them, disarming the man with the machete. With one final blow, the wizard Stunned the men, leaving them unconscious--or dead--on the cold, frozen snow. 

Draco Malfoy kneeled, holding the girl as she wept, her staccato breathing fogging up her glasses.

“Emmy!” Rosalind cried, forgetting she was still in disguise. “It-it’s me!” she stuttered as Emma looked at her confused, then back at Draco. 

“It’s alright, it’s your sister,” Draco said reassuringly. “She has been working undercover for the Ministry and has been in disguise.” The girl glanced up at Draco, then into the auburn eyes in front of her. 

“Sissy,” she said softly. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Rosalind’s eyes swelled with tears as she pulled her sister in a tight embrace. “Me too but you don’t have to worry now,” she said as the tears flowed from her eyelashes onto her sister’s shoulder. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks with her sweater. “N-no they didn’t hurt me they just kept us locked up for a long time.” 

Rosalind sighed, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. She stood to face Draco. “Thank you,” she said looking into his pale grey eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost her.”

Draco smiled, that genuine grin that he rarely showed. “She’s your whole world. I know how much she means to you.” His voice was calm and reassuring, something she had not felt in a long time. She touched his arm, a warm, comforting feeling overcoming them . Rosalind cracked a smile, first at Draco then at her sister. “You’re safe now,” she said, hugging her sister again, blinking through the tears. “It’s over.”

  
***

**_UNDERCOVER MINISTRY OFFICERS AND FORMER DEATH EATER WORK TOGETHER TO BUST NOTORIOUS GANG_ **

_It has been released to the press that officer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Rosalind Morana, Auror John Dawlish, and former Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange, who was previously imprisoned in Azkaban for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, were sent to work undercover to bust an international gang wreaking havoc the last several months. After receiving information that recent werewolf attacks were linked with other criminal activity, Head Auror Harry Potter sent the Death Eater along with his best Auror, and eventually American and Spanish-speaking newcomer Morana. Morana’s younger sister--whom she is raising--was kidnapped, along with several Hogwarts students, including the children of other Ministry officials._

_Dozens of bodies were recovered at a campground where notorious gang members from El Salvador had been keeping hostages, from the kidnapped Hogwarts children, men, women, and werewolves. Hundreds of thousands of Galleons worth of Muggle and wizard contraband were detected, with the head of the gang, Sal Amaya, in serious condition in St. Mungo’s._

_“Through the hard work of our department we were able to track down the gang and stop them before it was too late,” Potter stated at a press conference. “We got everyone home safe, and at the end of the day that is all that matters to us. It was a job well done.”_

Rosalind forced a smile as she flipped through the pages of the Daily Prophet, first from seeing her coworkers across the top of the front page, then at her own smiling face from the interview she gave. She was hesitant but Hermione insisted it was a good idea. 

“Who’s that on the front page?” Draco asked, taking a slow sip from his coffee mug. “You reckon I should send her an owl, take her on a date?” He grinned as Rosalind rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t know, she could be seeing someone,” she said playfully as Draco nudged her with his elbow. 

“I am very persuasive,” he continued. “And I doubt she’d find another bloke that looks better than I do.”

Rosalind laughed, looking into his stormy eyes. “You never know.” 

Draco smiled, his face softening, his hand caressing her knee. “Be with me, Rose.” It wasn’t a question, but he wasn’t demanding an answer either.

Rosalind’s eyes darted to the floor before meeting Draco’s again. He had been treating her differently since she came home. “I like the way things are right now,” she said in a pained voice. “With everything that just happened--I don’t feel quite myself yet.” 

Draco sighed dramatically before taking another gulp of coffee. “I know,” he said slowly. “I’ll still be here.” He gave her that longing smile of his that she loved. 

A long moment passed between them sending a flood of butterflies through Rosalind’s stomach. She truly cared about Draco, but she was still on edge after returning from the undercover work. She had barely been able to sleep, constantly tossed and turned, was jumpy and irritable, and felt like she was in a fog. 

She cleared her throat as more bodies walked into the room. They were back at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Office, awaiting the arrival of the Auror’s Office and members of the Order. The department was decorated in streams of glitter and wreaths, leftover Christmas decorations. The little old lady from the cafeteria brought in a tray of cookies, pies and desserts while the guests were arriving for the belated office holiday party. Several people from other departments that Rosalind had never seen before stopped by to congratulate her on the bust, which she found strange. It was odd how people knew who she was now. 

Rosalind bit into a frosted snickerdoodle cookie on her way back to her desk, spotting George walking hand in hand with Angelina. It didn’t hurt to see them, not even when George didn’t take a glance at her. But she felt a small comfort knowing that she didn’t feel anything towards them at all. She paused for a moment, hoping that Angelina would acknowledge her and the fact that she had saved her life. But she didn’t. Instead she gazed into George’s eyes lovingly, as he smiled back at her with closed lips. She sighed, uncorking the champagne bottle as the room cheered, designating herself to champagne pouring duty until the rest of the crowd showed up. 

“Cheers,” she said as she raised her glass, standing next to Draco and Ron, who were tuning out an excited Hermione, who was rambling about the werewolf reform. 

“...you believe this, that after years of advocation the Ministry has finally listened?” she exclaimed as a busboy walked by with a tray of chocolate covered strawberries, plopping one in her mouth. “They’re finally going to stop being classified as Beings! They are people after all--” 

Rosalind gulped more champagne, looking over at the pair of men having a discussion in the corner. Rodolphus and Neville were having a heated conversation that she couldn’t hear but she already knew what it was about--the Prophet article. It looked like he was apologizing to Neville personally, a surprising gesture. Eventually both men nodded, shaking hands and giving each other a pat on the back. Maybe Rodolphus had changed or maybe he was just keeping appearances, but he was not the man she had initially thought. She raised her glass in his direction, an action he reciprocated. 

Harry and the remaining Aurors entered, giving thanks and raising their glasses in a toast. Rosalind was thankful she wasn’t asked to give one. Her mind had gone blank the majority of the day. She excused herself and stepped into the hall, clutching her cloak against her chest from the bitter draft. Still, she sat on the floor at the end of the hallway, drowning out the noise from the party.

“Why so glum?” a friendly voice asked.

Rosalind glanced up to see Neville holding pumpkin pasties. “Nothing really, it’s just loud in there.” 

Neville frowned, taking a seat next to her and handing her a pasty. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She attempted at a nod, thanking him for the pasty. “I don’t know how to go back to normal.” 

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean--when I was at that camp I drank a potion to get initiated. It-it was awful…” Her voice trailed off as she flashed back to the agonizing memories. “I relived the worst, most terrible memories of my life. They were played out in front of me like a Muggle film.” She ripped away a chunk of pasty as Neville listened intently. “And it became so clear to me. I’m a product of the bad choices I’ve made because of something terrible that happened to me long ago.” She shook her head in disappointment. “I became so angry I allowed it to consume me. But I’ve been angry for so long that I don’t know how to turn it off.” 

The corner of Neville’s mouth curled as he offered an arm in sympathy. “It’s not too late for you. You can always get help.”

“How?”

“Here at the Ministry of course,” he said brightly. “I did take quite some time off to travel the world, but after I was hired as an Auror I started seeing the psychologist before I started. I was on desk duty and going to twice weekly sessions to better prepare myself for the job. It’s all Hermione’s idea, she pushed for mental health services after the war.”

Rosalind’s brow furrowed as she looked up at her friend. “We have that option?”

“I don’t think too many people know about it honestly,” he added. “I didn’t tell anyone I was in therapy because I thought it was a bit embarrassing. But I have been learning to cope and it’s made me much more confident in my Auror skills.”

“You’re already a great Auror, Neville.”

“Well yeah,” he said as his ears reddened. “But I had to work hard for it. Maybe it’d do you some good too.”

She nodded, taking in the new information. Merlin knows she needed help. She needed help a long time ago. She ripped off another chunk of pumpkin pasty, chewing slowly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”  
  
“How did you forgive them? Bellatrix and Rodolphus, I mean. What they did to your parents is awful.”

Neville’s ears flushed a deeper pink as he scratched his nose. “Well I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well the way I saw it, I could continue to be miserable like I had my whole life or I could move on.” He swallowed his last bit of pasty. “Moving on has made me much happier. I hope to live up to my parents’ legacies some day.” 

“Wow,” she said observing him. “I never thought about it that way. I used the anger to get me through the day because it was all I ever felt.” 

Neville gave her a small smile. “It takes time. Eventually it’ll feel like it was ages ago.” 

Rosalind returned his smile. “Thank you Neville. I’ll look into it.” 

He grinned, taking her hand and helping her up. “Let’s head back inside before Malfoy thinks we’re snogging.”

Rosalind laughed, freeing up her lungs. “He wishes I would snog him at work.”

Draco’s eyes locked with hers as she entered the room, making her feel at ease. He grinned, raising his glass towards her, a familiar scent of cigar and whiskey filled her nostrils.

“I’m slightly disappointed our marriage has to be on pause so soon.” 

She turned around to see a clean-shaven Rodolphus Lestrange, handing her a glass of champagne. 

“You’re the best fake husband I could’ve asked for,” she said taking it with a sip. “What’s going to happen to you now?”

He shrugged, throwing whiskey down his throat. “Dunno. Dawlish has the luxury of keeping an eye on me for the time being until my first hearing. I’m leaving soon to see Daph and Ares.” He grabbed another firewhiskey from a passing tray. “I know they’ll be in good hands with you.”

“Daphne and I will raise him, like lovers.”

“Love each other all you want, just don’t forget to let me back in once I’m out,” he winked, leaning against the stone wall, observing her. “You should’ve killed him when you had the chance.”

“And become your cellmate in Azkaban? No thanks.”

Rodolphus barked out a laugh. “You’re right. You’d get eaten alive with his little friends in there.” His head swayed as he grinned. “Take care of yourself, Morana.” The corners of her mouth lifted as he eyed Dawlish, nodding for the pair to leave. She watched them depart, alone again, pondering her conversation with Neville. She had spoken to very few people about her life, let alone a professional. Perhaps it was what she needed.

“Walk with me.” Draco stood to his full height, taking her hand and directing her into the hallway. They took slow steps in synch down the corridor, the torches dancing firelight before their faces. He stopped them below one of the torches, the dim light accentuating his features, his eyes dark with worry.

“It’s what you saw when you drank that potion, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice. “That’s what you keep thinking about?” 

She nodded, assuming Rodolphus had told him. “I can’t get it out of my head.” She lowered her head, her mouth trying to keep pace with her brain. “It was worse than I could’ve imagined--literally my worst nightmare. Except it was all things I’ve actually done.” She stared off into the dim corridor before meeting his gaze. “I can’t change what I did. I don’t want to be that person anymore.” 

Draco lifted her chin, his thumb caressing her face. “You’re not.” Her eyes searched his as they heard footsteps approaching. “Longbottom’s got a point. You should take his advice and see the psychologist.”

“How’d you--”

Draco laughed, dropping his hand. “Are you ever going to take up Occlumency? That’s why you’re a lousy Legilimens.”

“Is that why?” she said frowning. “And here I thought it was just you knowing me well now.” 

He grinned. “I know all of you more than anyone else ever will.” 

Rosalind smiled, jerking her head, hearing her name in the distance. A harried Hermione was walking briskly in their direction. “Come, Rosalind! It’s urgent--” she grabbed her by the hand before she had time to react, knocking a large oak door open into Harry’s office. He was in his leather chair, with Ron, Bowen, and two other Department of Magical Law Enforcement officers she had only seen in passing standing with grim expressions on their faces. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, immediately succumbing to their looks.

Harry leaned forward, elbow resting on his desk. “Sal Amaya just died.”

“From what?”

“He lost too much blood.” He sighed, taking a look at his Aurors and officers. “A couple of his high-ranking cronies died as well. They were all key witnesses to his case, and to determine the depth of his damage here.” He pursed his lips, looking up at Rosalind. “You were the last person seen with him.”

Rosalind’s stomach dropped. “Harry I didn’t--”

“I still have to ask. Did you kill him?”

Her mouth hung from shock. She looked to Hermione, who had a pained expression on her face. “No!” she squeaked, her hands shaking. “I didn’t kill him!” No one dared breathe, the other officers staring on with pale faces. “He attacked Angelina Johnson and she was without a wand--when he wouldn’t fight back he told me he was a Muggle--”

“He was a Muggle?” Hermione said quietly. “You attacked a Muggle?”

“I didn’t know!” she cried, tears pooling from her eyes. “None of us knew! They kept magic hidden as much as possible--”

Harry raised his hand, silencing her. “Kingsley sent word to me moments ago. The Special Task Force is on their way to arrest the three of you.” 

“Arrest us--”

“I tried to stop it,” he said gravely. “It’s out of my hands.” He looked to her, his glasses cracked from the fight. “I’m sorry, Rosalind. To all of you.” 

Her heart raced as the oak doors burst open, several figures in dark robes storming in, grabbing the other offices and escorting them out. She barely had time to react as the biggest man forced her arms behind her back, invisible cuffs binding her. 

“Rosalind Morana,” he said gruffly. “You are under investigation for the death of Sal Amaya.”

**Dun dun dun! This was actually the ending of my first upload of this story but it was much different. Neville had a smaller role overall and Rosalind actually did kill Sal and she’s sent off to Azkaban. But several chapters into the sequel I realized it wasn’t enough for a true sequel and it was no longer the direction I intended, and I ended up scrapping them both. So instead, our story continues on for now. Thank you so much to those who have been reading! :)**

**Next chapter: Fame > Infamy**


	34. Fame < Infamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're the one from the Prophet!"

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

“Let me go!” Rosalind cried, the man’s grip tightening on her arms. “Where are you taking me?” 

The man’s body and silence were heavy against her, leading her deeper within the Ministry, the flames from the torched walls casting dark shadows against their faces. The tall oak doors opened into a familiar room, two rows of iron cells and the musky smell of grime and desperation approaching her. One of the iron doors slid open, the man thrusting her inside before locking her in the cell. 

“We’ll call you when it’s your turn for questioning,” was all he said before turning a sharp heel to the exit. 

“But I didn’t do anything!” She pounded her fists against the cell bars, noticing the other body in the room. A young, cherub-faced officer stared at her, his light blue eyes on the brink of tears. 

“What’re you in here for?” 

The young man jumped, avoiding her gaze. “They think I killed someone,” he squeaked. “But I-I didn’t, I swear!” He sat on the stone bench, his head low. “I was just doing my job.” 

“What happened?” 

“After the Dark Mark was conjured we left in haste to the camp. They didn’t have much time to brief us and it became chaotic so quickly. All I knew was that we were to save the children and take the werewolves to safety.” He stared at the folded hands in his lap. “I saw one of those men after one of the children so I disarmed him yet he still went at it and he tried to grab my wand--so I had to subdue him on the ground and had my knee on his chest while trying to keep the child at bay and I may have used t-too much pressure on his sternum.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “But he was still breathing when I left, promise!” He looked at her with innocent eyes, regret written all over them. “I-I wouldn’t--I would never do that--”

“I believe you,” she said quietly as the young man nearly burst into tears.

He glanced up at her, his thick lashes salted. “You do?”

She nodded. “You’re just a kid yourself.” 

He sniffed, wiping a strand of snot from his nose. “I was just trying to do my job. Honest.” 

She pitied him, as he sat like a scolded child. “What’s your name?” she asked gently.

“Afta. John Afta. They call me Johnny.” He attempted a smile, unable to shake her hand.. “What’s yours?” She introduced herself, his eyes widening. “Blimey, you’re the one in the Prophet! I heard about what they put you through in there--I dunno how you did it.” 

“It’s part of the job sometimes.” She shrugged, surprised at his enthusiasm. “I didn’t expect this though.” She nodded at their cells. “Who’s the other guy?” 

“Oh, that’s Arthur Shelley. He’s an older bloke, been with the Ministry quite a few years. I’m not quite sure what his story is but I think he changed the course of the direction of a bullet and it hit someone else and wounded them. But in all his years with the department he’s never come in contact with Muggle weaponry. The whole situation was bizarre.” 

“Extremely,” she agreed. Their heads snapped in the direction of the oak doors as the officer named Arthur Shelley was escorted in, grey hair frayed, his clothes ruffled. His tired eyes were defeated, and he sat wordlessly in his cell without a glance at the others. 

“Afta. You’re up,” the same man who arrested Rosalind opened his cell, the young man cowering. She attempted a smile at him, his melancholy face unable to reciprocate the gesture. 

“Bloody fools,” the man grunted. “Been with the department decades and this is how they treat me.” He spat on the floor so hard the remains splashed her leg. “They reckon you killed the big guy, aye?”

“Something like that.” 

He shook his head. “What a bloody mess. It’s the first case of its kind where Muggles were involved like this so of course there were going to be casualties.” He crossed his arms, leaning into the stone wall, huffing his chest. “Don’t mean they’re our fault.”

She studied him, at a loss for words, her head beginning to pound. She just wanted to go home, but instead walked from one nightmare into another. They had to believe her--she didn’t kill Sal. She only wanted to.

After what felt like hours later, Johnny Afta was escorted back into his cell, pale faced and drained of emotion, unable to meet Rosalind’s gaze. 

“Morana.” Her cell doors slid open, her wrists bound by invisible cuffs. She complied wordlessly, his long, cold fingers pressed against her back, leading her into a bare square of a room, brightly lit with a large window into another room on the north wall, a sole table in the center with two chairs. The man motioned her to sit, the invisible cuffs releasing her wrists. 

She sat, a manilla envelope between them. His hooded eyes stared at her, hands clasped. He was fairly young, with only a few fine lines on his forehead and faint grooves around his mouth, a few day’s stubble peppering his jaw. 

“I am Farran Hadeon of the Special Task Force,” he began, squaring his shoulders to show off the badge on his chest. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“No,” she responded, careful to keep her cool.

“You are under investigation for the death of Sal Amaya.”

“But I didn’t--”

He held a finger to silence her. “I am not the enemy. This is protocol.”

Rosalind raised her brow, eyeing the window to her left. Interrogations usually had onlookers. 

“I assure you, none of your colleagues are watching.” He opened the manilla envelope, producing a tin of cookies. “Biscuit?”

Her face remained unchanged. “That’s a trap.”

He chuckled, a gesture that caught her off guard. “I’ll eat the other one if you’d like.”

She nodded, taking the cookie hesitantly, her stomach grumbling from the scent of warm chocolate chips. She inadvertently groaned, wolfing down the dessert. She wiped her mouth as Hadeon finished his own, wiping the crumbs from his shirt. 

He cleared his throat. “I know we gave you quite a fright and I apologize. Afta and Shelley will be alright. Their investigations will be short. Yours however…” he sniffed, running his thumb and middle finger over his jaw. “Is a bit different.” He removed sheets of parchment and photographs from the envelope, shoving the photograph of a middle aged man to her. “Do you know who this is?”

“Sal Amaya,” she said without studying the photo. 

“What can you tell me about him?” 

“He’s a gang member. He gave me a potion the night I was initiated. Everything is in my report.”

“It hasn’t made it into our hands yet.”

“Can’t you just go into our department and ask for it?”

He sighed, crossing his arms on the table. “Not exactly. There are several officers involved so it is rather lengthy. We’d prefer to hear your firsthand account before reviewing it.”

“Why?” she eyed him. “Aren’t you going to know either way?”

“Well yes, but this is a bit of a shortcut. We would like a better understanding of the events.”

“So am I or am I not under investigation for his death?” she asked slowly. “I don’t even know how he died.”

His lips flattened. “You are. Simply because you were the last seen with him.” Two more photographs were produced from the envelope, the first showing Sal on the snowy floor covered in blood. 

“That’s what he looked like when I left,” she said internally wincing at the photograph and still suspicious of Hadeon. “Except with his eyes open.”

“Why did you attack him?”

Rosalind’s head jerked back in surprise. “I didn’t attack him.” She wanted to scoff but held her tongue. “He attacked a member of the Order. She was defenseless. I was helping her.” 

“Did you Stun him?” he inquired.

“No,” she averted her gaze. “I knocked him over with a spell and confronted him.” When pressed why, she continued. “He wasn’t attacking me back. Not like--not like he was to Angelina. But he tried. He had a wand and a machete but the wand wouldn’t do anything for him.”

“Did you know he was a Muggle?”

“No. No one knew. What he did--he had them brainwashed. Sometimes the wands would work for them and sometimes they wouldn’t. They were unpredictable.”

“What happened after he told you he was a Muggle?”

“He asked me if I was going to kill him.”

“And?”

“And,” she continued in haste. “I told him he deserved worse than death.”

“Hmph.” He made a note on a pad, his quill scratching away before proceeding. It was odd that the quill wasn’t recording their entire conversation. “And then, as we have been told, you left to aid your sister.” She nodded in agreement as he pushed the last photograph before her: a dead Sal, blood crusted, the hole in his shoulder pitch black. “Care to explain this?” he asked, pointing to his shoulder.

“A dead man?”

“The curse, Morana.” He spoke slowly, his words making her squirm. “Our investigation has shown it was from you.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Where did you learn that?”

“In El Salvador,” she said in a low voice. “I only meant to slow him down.” 

“I see,” he said jotting another note down. “Mr. Amaya officially died from exsanguination. Loss of blood.” 

“He was already bleeding before I got to him—“

His nod silenced her. “That was confirmed by the healers. But that,” he pointed to the blackened skin. “Is another matter. That is a piece of quite advanced Dark Magic, Morana.” 

She bowed her head, staring at his hands, unsure of what to say. The interrogation was odd—why was he more interested in the curse she used against Sal than anything else? 

“Unfortunately,” he continued with a drum of his fingers on the oak table, “the _Prophet_ got wind of the situation and is poised to publish an article on the Ministry’s heavy handedness. Dark Magic of that level leaves traces, and we must avoid a scandal.”

“So I’m not in trouble for him dying?” She said slowly. “Just for the Dark Magic?” 

Hadeon took a sharp breath. “We do not like to discipline our officers, especially for doing their job. But sometimes information is leaked before we have a handle on it and the appropriate measures must be taken.” He leaned forward, hands clasped, lowering his voice. “In order for the Ministry to keep its reputation intact and us to continue our investigation on the depths of this gang, certain er--precautions must be taken, especially since Mr. Amaya was a Muggle. This could wreak havoc. You understand, of course.”

Rosalind eyed him, unmoving. “Of course.” 

The corners of his mouth raised into a small smile. “Excellent.” He continued to question her lightly, taking sparse notes, leaving her uneasy. When he was satisfied, he flipped his notepad shut and tucked his quill away, shaking her hand. “We will be in touch, and you will receive word from us via owl post soon.” Rosalind stood, murmuring an inaudible thanks, heading to the door.

“Oh and Morana,” he said just before her hand touched the door handle. “Do not say a word to the press. Let us handle them. They can be a bit...chaotic.”

She frowned, turning towards him. “Got it.”

Hadeon smiled. “You are dismissed.”

Rosalind reciprocated his close-lipped smile, sighing deeply, turning on her heel to leave. No one escorts her any not a soul around. When she reached her exit the crescendo of voices reached her ears, several bright flashes blinding her, accentuating her headache, a thousand questions hurled in her direction. 

“Miss Morana, is it true that you killed notorious gang lord Sal Amaya?” a balding wizard blurts out, quill in hand. She stared at him in disbelief as another reporter grabbed her arm. 

“Marietta Edgecombe with _Witch Weekly_ here,” a plain faced witch with several acne scars on her forehead followed her, her out of style peasant skirt dragging across the cold ground. “Could you answer a few questions for me? How do you feel about the possibility of being sent to Azkaban? Are you afraid of running into the men that you were responsible for arresting?” 

Rosalind’s jaw drops as she ignores her, taking an alternate route in case they decided to follow her home, the flashing of the lights blinding her. The witch pushes her way through the other reporters, their voices swarming her ears and increasing her anxiety. 

“Is it true that you tortured him?”  
  
“Who will your sister live with if you are sent to Azkaban?”

“Does the Ministry encourage its employees to use unethical tactics in their investigations?” 

“How does it feel to be the most talked about woman in London?” 

“Enough!” she bellowed, confronting all of the reporters. “Please leave me alone. I have no comment.” She made her best attempt at remaining calm, her wand tucked under her cloak, breath huffing clouds as she stared at them all. “I just want to go home.” She slowed her breathing, eyes wide from exhaustion, the reporters taking the cue to leave for her to walk the remainder of her journey alone. 

She opened her door quickly, glancing around to ensure no one followed her. Throwing her soaked boots on the floor, she dropped her body face first onto her bed, head pounding from the stress of the last few hours. She forced herself to sit, fixing a pot of tea, piecing together this new conundrum she was in. It did not make sense for the Ministry to protect her, she is a mere employee. The Ministry is trying to protect itself from the public. But how? By not releasing certain details on the case? What did Afta and Shelley have to do with anything? They were barely involved and clearly innocent--unless they were easy targets. Afta the young officer, eager to do the right thing, easy to bend his will. And Shelley, seasoned officer with possibly not much to lose. And then there was Rosalind, the one who committed the offense of Dark Magic but was clearly questioned the least. 

She rubbed her forehead, a large tawny owl hooting at her window. She gave the bird half a slice of toast, the main headline of the _Daily Prophet_ glaring at her:

**_GANG MEMBERS DEAD. DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS GUILTY - OF MURDER?_ **

_It has been released to our sources that the gang lord who was recently captured, Sal Amaya, passed in St. Mungo’s due to a substantial loss of blood. Two of his high-ranking comrades have passed as well, resulting in the investigations of three officers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When pressed for more information, Special Task Force agent Farran Hadeon briefly stated, “Our department and the Ministry have conducted a thorough investigation of the events and have dispersed the proper punishments. All three officers have been suspended with pay, and will resume their posts upon completion of their suspension.”_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement officers John Afty, Arthur Shelley, and Rosalind Morana have caused quite an uproar in the wizarding community. Mr. Afty and Mr. Shelley allegedly injured the high-ranking gang members, thus resulting in their deaths in St. Mungo’s. Ms. Rosalind Morana on the other hand, was present at the camp during her undercover investigation, having attacked Mr. Amaya as he was dueling with another officer._

_But is this punishment enough? Does the death of three criminals equal justice, or was it a pervasive abuse of authority? Ms. Morana herself is a descendant of the same country these criminals are from, and showed no mercy._

_This is a developing story, and will be updated with new information once available._

Rosalind threw the newspaper on the floor in disgust, a small roll of parchment drifting down with it. Hadeon knows full well that Afty and Shelley did absolutely nothing wrong, they just needed someone to blame along with her to cause a distraction. The Ministry doesn’t want the public to know of the little misdoings within it. 

She picked up the scroll of parchment, reading the thick, blocky writing:

_Dear Ms. Morana,_

_After reviewing our files and notes, the Special Task Force has found you not guilty in the death of Sal Amaya. However, due to our conversation, you are suspended with pay for thirty days. Should you have any questions or would like to use the Ministry’s several resources for this difficult time, you may do so._

_Sincerely,_

_Farran Hadeon_

_Special Task Force_

Her stomach dropped. Suspended. For a month. 

**Yikes--from one problem to another. This month of suspension is going to be crucial for Rosalind, so hopefully she takes some time to reflect on her past. Thank you for reading! I know this chapter was a bit slower than the last few, but everything will pick up again soon and we will be done :)**   
  
**Next chapter: Sleepwalking Past Hope**


	35. Sleepwalking Past Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Today we begin the path to self-healing."

**Chapter title taken from the HIM song.**

“What a load of rubbish.” An exasperated Daphne threw the  _ Prophet  _ onto the table with the rest of her documents, her lips pursing. “They can’t possibly believe that he died by your hand. Their only concern is their reputation.” She took a sip of her tea, the china clinking against her rings. “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“See the shrink,” Rosalind laughed, setting down her cup. “So I don’t lose my mind any more than I already have.” 

“The one at the Ministry? I didn’t even know it was an option,” she said with a raised brow. 

“Neither did I but my suspension letter did say I can use the resources during this time,” she responded with a yawn. “And it’ll give me something to do. I can’t go anywhere without getting bothered. It’s so weird.” It has been several days since her interrogation, and Rosalind couldn’t go for a walk without being hounded by either journalists or being stared at by passerby. 

“Well you know you can stay here to get away from it all at any time.” She placed her hand on Rosalind’s knee, grinning. “This will all blow over eventually. After that you can continue your rendezvous with Draco.”

“There is no rendezvous with anyone thank you very much,” she retorted with an eye roll, face flushing. “We’re just...good friends.”

“Friends who snog on occasion?” Daphne laughed. “You can’t possibly deny you have feelings for him.”

She shrugged, taking a bite of biscuit. “I plead the fifth.”

“C’mon Rose, give it a go already,” she continued. “Stop kicking yourself over what happened with George. You weren’t right for each other no matter how nice he was to you.” 

“I know.” Rosalind took another biscuit, avoiding her best friend’s gaze. “I guess I’ve run out of excuses.”

“I’ve known Draco since we were children. He has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you, let alone opened up to them.” 

“Not even Astoria?” she asked, surprised.

“Not even Astoria.”

“Oh.” She fixated on the documents on the table, sipping her tea slowly. “He makes it sound like they’re expected to marry.”

“They’re each other’s defaults,” Daphne said with an eye roll of her own. “It’s a smart match but they don’t love each other. Besides, she’s not his type.”

“What’s her type?” 

“Tall, rugged, and on the run,” she laughed. “Her and Dolohov have been seeing each other for years.” 

Tiny footsteps distracted them, a sleepy Ares dragging a book and his favorite teddy bear, attempting to climb onto the couch by himself. “Mummy,” he said rubbing his eyes. “Can you read me a story?”

“Of course my love,” Daphne said as she sat him in his lap. “Which one?”

“The fountain,” he said pointing to the middle of his book. 

“What’s that?” Rosalind asked, craning her neck to glance at the cover. 

_ “The Tales of Beedle the Bard? _ You’ve never read them? They’re wizard fairy tales.”

Rosalind shook her head. “I grew up hearing about La Llorona and La Siguanaba and El Cipitio.” When Daphne raised her brow, she explained, “La Llorona and La Siguanaba are cursed women, and El Cipitio is a young boy with a big hat and big belly that likes to throw rocks at pretty girls.” 

They laughed, Daphne sliding the book between them as Ares sat on his mother’s lap, his legs over Rosalind’s. “You’d like this one. It’s about three witches and a Muggle knight who take destiny into their own hands.” She grinned, the three of them squeezing onto the large couch as Daphne read the story, Rosalind pondering Daphne’s words.

***

His tall, broad body was leaning against the pillar in the atrium, an elegant pocket watch counting down the seconds as he watched the woman approach him, her thick curls bouncing with every step. She smiled broadly upon seeing him, pulling him into a tight embrace, causing a strange tug in his chest.

“You did your hair today,” he observed, pocketing his watch. 

“I put in an effort every once in a while,” Rosalind smiled as she took a seat in the cafe, two cups of tea steaming before them. “Don’t look so surprised.” 

“Surprised isn’t the word I’d use,” he said, taking a sip. “I’ll save that for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” 

“I’m taking you to dinner.” 

Rosalind’s eyes fluttered in surprise, her lips curling into another smile. “It’s a date.” 

Draco grinned, handing a Galleon to the witch placing their sandwiches on their table and muttering his thanks. “Work has been interesting. Everyone’s keen to know what the real story is with you and the other officers.”

“What have you told them?” she asked mid bite of her turkey sandwich. 

“That we haven’t spoken so I don’t know the details. But,” he pointed to the copies of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ and  _ Witch Weekly _ by them. “It’s odd they didn’t say why any of you were suspended.”

“Well I wasn’t interrogated like the other two were. They looked pretty rough when they came back from the interrogation room. Hadeon even gave me a cookie,” she laughed dryly. “I don’t know what he said to Johnny and Shelley but I don’t think it’s the same conversation he had with me.” 

“Why not?”

She motioned her fingers for him to lean closer to her, her voice low. “They know I used Dark Magic against Sal and that I wasn’t trying to kill him. But it left traces and that’s what they’re upset about. Someone from the  _ Prophet _ found out and they want to keep the story there. They don’t care that they died.” 

Draco nodded, swallowing a lump of roast beef. “So the other two didn’t do anything wrong?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But they’re easy targets and caused a distraction from me.”

“Why not sack you then?”

“And make it look like the Ministry has a rouge officer that killed a Muggle? They would have a field day and it’d be an admission of guilt. They want this hidden.” 

“Hmm.” Draco took another bite. “You reckon Potter or the Minister know?”

Rosalind shrugged. “If Harry knew he’d tell Hermione and she’d go to Kingsley. I don’t think that’s something he stands for but who knows.”

“So even if he died and you didn’t curse him, nothing would have happened. But since the  _ Prophet _ got wind of it--”

“Exactly.” She nodded again. “They don’t care about me either.”

“Interesting.” He stirred a lump of sugar in his tea as two wizards walked by them, ogling Rosalind. “You’ve become quite the overnight celebrity.”

“I know,” she rolled her eyes. “I liked it better when I was invisible.” 

“It’ll blow over once the next big story comes out. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you distracted with my charm in the meantime,” he grinned.

“Funny, Daphne said almost the same thing earlier,” she said with a smile. 

“Smart woman.” He glanced at his pocket watch, his hand resting on top of hers, caressing the side of her hand. “Wear something nice tonight.” He stood, pulling her close, the familiar scent of peppermint filling her nostrils. 

She glanced up at him, inhaling his scent. “I’ll see what I can do.” They smiled for the last time, their fingers intertwined, watching one another head into separate directions. 

***

Dr. Samira Najjad is a middle-aged witch, with kind eyes framed with fine lines of the years of laughter she has had. A half-blood witch who grew up with a healer mother and psychologist father, she saw first-hand the benefits of mental health and therapy and has advocated it for the wizarding community. 

Immediately upon entering her office and inhaling the subtle scent of lavender, Rosalind felt a rush of emotions: anger, despair, joy, and intense grief, unable to control the flood of tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Welcome.” Dr. Najjad’s warm voice greeted her. “Please, take a seat.” She motioned towards the leather chair, Rosalind sitting slowly. The doctor smiled at her as Rosalind attempted to compose herself, her chest heaving as more tears pooled from her eyes.

“What’s happening to me?” she said softly, the bags under her eyes now red instead of their usual light purple. “Is this from the potion mentioned in the paperwork I filled out?”

Dr. Najjad nodded, pointing to the diffuser in the corner. “It’s a potion concocted by my parents. It allows the intended recipient to feel what they have been suppressing in order to fully heal from their trauma.” She handed Rosalind a tissue for her nose. “Everything you say to me will be kept confidential, unless you pose a threat to yourself or others. We take every session one step at a time. Do you have any questions?”

“H-how long will I feel like this?”

“Today will be the worst day,” the doctor replied gently. “But you have already made the first step. You sought out help. Today we begin the path to self-healing.”

Rosalind murmured her agreement, inhaling sharply, the grief and pain fading away from the realization her journey had already begun.

**Rosalind is finally getting help - something I think everyone needs no matter how “normal” they think they are or how “small” their problems seem to be. Our next chapter will be a fun one, with Draco and Rosalind going on their first (!) official date. Thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: Second Heartbeat**


	36. Second Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let's go get that dessert, shall we?"

**Chapter title taken from the Avenged Sevenfold song.**

**Just a warning, this chapter gets pretty saucy!**

The Golden Snidget was a quaint restaurant, the exposed brick juxtaposed with the modern art, the patio and balcony overlooking the river, roaring through conversations as the violinists played on. An impatient Draco drummed his fingers against his side, glancing up at the clock as he adjusted his cuffs. 

The clicking of heels against stone distracted him, a woman’s slow steps approaching the blonde man slowly. She was wearing a sky blue knee length dress, hoop earrings that brushed her shoulders, a ring for each finger on her left hand, the charm bracelet he gave her dangling on her right wrist, and a smile that immediately connected to his, bringing their surroundings to a standstill. He stayed silent but he wasn’t nervous--his heart rate had decelerated, and he drank her in as he took her hand, listening to the faint chime from the bracelet. 

Rosalind removed her coat, handing it to an employee before turning to Draco, dressed in navy slacks and a white button down, his pale eyes glistening in the dim light.

“Are you going to say hi or are you going to keep staring at me like we’ve never met?” she laughed, the hostess leading them to their table. 

“I got a bit distracted,” he muttered, taking a seat opposite of her. “Your earrings could double as weapons.”

“And my rings as brass knuckles,” she winked, taking a look at the menu. “You better watch yourself before you end up with a black eye.”

“You’re less than half my size, I think I can manage,” he grinned. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” she quipped. “Can’t rough up that pretty face of yours too much.”

He rolled his eyes, still grinning, thumbing through the menu. “Challenge accepted.” A waiter stopped by with a bottle of French wine, Draco ordering a few appetizers for them as Rosalind narrowed down her choices. 

“How’d your first session go?” he asked as their oysters were served. 

Her face fell. “It was hard. I cried a lot. I’ve never had to talk about myself like that before.” She stared at her hands for a moment before glancing back at him. “Let’s not talk about it--or work. It’s all we ever talk about. I want us to enjoy ourselves tonight.”

He placed the empty shell on a plate before grabbing a second one. “Deal. Whoever brings up work first finishes the bottle of wine in one go.”

She smiled. “Deal.” 

Course after course of small plates were delivered to their table, along with a second bottle of wine, Rosalind beginning to slur her words, swaying to the delicate music of the piano and violins. 

“ _Pas de deux,”_ she said softly. “This might be my favorite piece of all time.” 

“Why’s that?” he asked, taking another sip of wine. 

“It’s the sound of two people falling in love.”

“Be careful love, it’s still our first date.”

She leaned into him, their lips inches apart. “You wouldn’t be able to resist me either way.” She squeezed the top of his knee, pulling away with a devious smile. 

Draco let out a long, slow sigh into his wine glass, the swell in his chest intensifying. Rosalind looked back at him, reaching out her hand to his. “Let’s go walk around before I fall asleep from eating all this food.” They alerted their server, Rosalind frowning when Draco refused to let her touch the bill. 

“Thank you for dinner,” she said as they entered the cold street. “I almost don’t have enough room for dessert.”

“We can have dessert at my place if you’d like,” he said taking her hand and interlocking his fingers with hers.

“Oh?” she said innocently. “I didn’t know I was on the menu.”

Draco huffed out a laugh, his breath frosting. “Cheeky tonight, aren’t you?”

She merely shrugged, the corner of her mouth curling into a grin. “I’m happy.” 

“So am I.” They approached the middle of a bridge, snow beginning to fall onto their shoulders. They locked eyes, the cold around them disappearing, Draco’s hands cupping her face, staring into her eyes. Rosalind’s breathing slowed as his fingers laced the hair on the back of her neck, finally tracing the side of her jaw, pulling her into a slow, passionate kiss. He deepened the kiss with his tongue, causing her to grip him closer. Just as her lips were ready for more he pulled away, still caressing the side of her face with his thumb. 

“Let’s go get that dessert, shall we?”

***

“You live very very modestly compared to your parents,” she observed, hanging her coat. 

“I’m only one person,” he said while fixing cups of tea. “And it was an easy way to rebel against what they taught me.”  
  
“Like what?” she asked whilst blowing the steam from her tea.

“Like living in excess and considering ourselves superior to anyone not a Pureblood.” He sat in the stool next to her, stirring in a lump of sugar. “My mother has softened quite a bit but I’m not sure if my father will ever truly change.”

“That’s why you fight so much.”

He nodded. “He’s bought or bullied his way through everything in his life. Most of my neighbors here are Muggles or Muggleborn and have treated me with a kindness I’ve never experienced before.” He sipped his tea, adding another lump of sugar. “It was quite off putting realizing how I was raised. But at least I can be happy knowing I won’t raise my kids the same.” 

“You think the world is ready for little Dracos to be running around?”

“You’re right, that’s an overwhelming amount of handsome at once,” he grinned. “Do you want kids?”

She shrugged. “Maybe just one. Emma is like my child. She’s a lot like our parents - she’s sweet and kind and sees the good in everyone,” she stared off into the kitchen with a pained expression. “I’m learning to be more like her.”

“It’s a process,” he said handing her a bowl of French vanilla ice cream. They wolfed it down, Rosalind standing too quickly and almost toppling over, Draco catching her by the waist. “You alright there?”

She nodded, stepping her way onto his couch. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a few days.”

He laughed, taking a seat next to her as she placed her legs on his lap. “Same. I might be due for a nap soon.”

She nodded in agreement. “I’ll head home before I fall asleep.”

“Or,” he slid his hand across her thigh. “You could stay here.”

She gave him that devious grin, sitting up so she was facing him, her breath meeting his. “Convince me.”

Draco instantly pulled her mouth onto his, causing an immediate pulse between her thighs as she straddled him, thrusting her hips into his, his hand slithering the curve of her lower back to squeeze her bum.

“Merlin,” he groaned. “Where have you been hiding that?”

“I could ask you the same thing about your friend here,” she said in a low voice as he kissed the side of her neck, forcing her to let out a moan. 

He stood, Rosalind’s legs wrapped around his torso, pushing their bodies against the wall, knocking a vase over. Her mouth searched for his, his hand on the side of her thigh while her fingers gripped his platinum locks. He kissed her collarbone and back up to her neck, her dress rolled up to her waist. She turned around, ordering him to unzip her, as he revealed her lace underwear, the same shade of blue as her dress and lace bra, the indent of her nipples poking through.

“Damn, Rose,” he said in a low voice, cupping her breast. “This is even better than I imagined.”

She attempted to catch her breath, her disheveled curls skimming her eyelashes. “Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

Her dress pooled to the floor along with his shirt and belt as Draco pushed one of her legs onto the edge of the dresser, the other leg stabilizing her while he breathed over her underwear, causing her to squirm. He grinned, kissing the crevice between her lower lips and upper thigh as Rosalind moaned, Draco skimming his fingers over her wet undergarments. 

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered, sliding his hand over her breasts and down her torso. He threw her underwear into the other room, burying his face between her legs, exploring her body with his tongue as she cried out his name, her back arching. 

He picked her up to move her into the bedroom, letting her down gently on his bed. She wrapped her legs around his face as he continued to dive deep, her body pulsing against his mouth with every lick.

“Draco…” she moaned, clutching the sheets. “Don’t stop…”

He kissed her inner thigh, sliding two fingers inside her, Rosalind letting out a sharp cry of pleasure. She opened her eyes, Draco now on the bed, one hand on her breast. She guided his hand to her throat, one of his fingers in her mouth. She whimpered as her skin soaked from ecstasy, his gaze connecting with hers. She pulled his fingers out and thrust them into her mouth, still staring at him, his grin widening. She nodded at him, helping him undress himself. 

He kneeled before her, their breathing heavy. He positioned himself on top of her, ever so slowly sliding his thick member inside of her, Rosalind gasping, her face going from pained to absolute pleasure. 

Draco swore, caressing her face with both of his hands, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Bloody hell, Rose,” he said softly. “You feel perfect.”

She nodded, staring into his stormy eyes. He kissed her gently, rolling his hips into her, deepening the kiss with his tongue, Rosalind’s legs around his torso.

“Fuck, Draco,” she moaned, their bodies rolling slowly in sync. She brought him closer to her, kissing the side of his head, his neck, inhaling their scent. He positioned her legs onto his shoulders, augmenting their pleasure.

“Fuuuck!” Rosalind’s eyes widened in bliss, his hand caressing the underside of her jaw. She reached out to him and he held her hand, closing the gap between them, their torsos touching, their lips meeting once more. He kissed her, picking up his pace only slightly, Rosalind biting his lower lip as he continued to thrust inside her. 

“Come for me,” he whispered in her ear, her breathing accelerating. “I want to feel you come for me.”

She whimpered, Draco kissing her once more, their kisses now slow and passionate, their bodies wrapped tightly together. Her head jerked as her back arched, climaxing, her walls gripping him like a vice, yelling out his name and obscenities in Spanish. 

“Merlin--Rose--” Draco moaned simultaneously with her, his body clenching in frenzy. He dropped his weight on her, and Rosalind wrapped her legs around him. holding him close, kissing his jawline, their hearts beating at the same rate.

“Draco.” She stared into his eyes, one hand holding his, the other stroking his hair. “That was incredible.”

“Yes it was,” he agreed, kissing her tenderly on the forehead, not wanting to move. “You were amazing.”

She smiled sheepishly. “You did all the work.”

“Next time it’ll be your turn then,” he laughed, his heart swelling. Normally after a shag he’d want to leave but this felt different--this moment couldn’t be long enough.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” she grinned, Draco rolling over next to her. She reached up to him to give him a sweet kiss. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t mean just for this,” she added as he opened his mouth. “Being here with you feels...just right.” 

Draco smiled, his breathing still heavy. “It does.” Her face had a different glow than usual, causing his heart to skip a beat. “It’s easy.” 

Her smile widened, the creases in the corners of her eyes showing. “We definitely broke the rule of no sex on the first date.”

“Fuck those rules,” he laughed. “We’re about to break them again.” He pulled her on top of him, Rosalind leaning forward to kiss him. He slid himself back inside her, her body gushing. 

Rosalind turned her body around with Draco still inside her, grabbing his ankles for leverage as she rocked her hips into him and he grabbed her ass cheeks, enjoying the view. She hopped off, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto his knees, with her on all fours, backing herself into him while he caressed the curves of her body. She arched her body, pushing him deeper, clutching the sheets and closing her eyes.

“Draco,” she moaned. “You’re going to make me come again--”

“Come for me, babe,” he said, thrusting harder. “I want you to come for me all night.”

Her face was to the side, mouth gaping in shameless desire, her eyes cracked open, locking with his. Her mouth curled into a smirk, her eyes rolling back once more as she was knocked wordlessly into bliss. She positioned herself on her back, Draco slowing their bodies down, his hand stroking her hair, his fingers touching the smooth skin on her face. 

“Damn, you are beautiful,” he said in a low voice. She pulled him into another kiss, drawing in their scent, their bodies rocking in unison. She held his face and stared into his eyes as he crescendoed his pace, her legs gripping his torso as he clenched in climax, once more dropping his weight onto her chest.

She laughed, their breathing unable to calm down. “That might have been better than the first time.”

Draco smiled, kissing her forehead before kissing her on the mouth, leaving her breathless. He rolled over to change himself, handing her one of his shirts for her to slip into before climbing back in bed, tucking her under his arm. 

She glanced up at him, his platinum hair a mess. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly?” he said with a short laugh. “How surprisingly relaxed I am. Normally after a shag I want to go to sleep but I feel like I could stay up all night with you just laying here.”

Rosalind’s face beamed, her head now on his chest. “I can squeeze you into my schedule.” She laughed as he rolled his eyes, kissing the top of his shoulder. “I like this. This feels good.”

He eyed her, stroking her curls. “It does.” He held her for a long moment, their heart rates decelerating and beating as one. Still high from their evening, they sat in bed and talked late into the night, the sunrise peeking through the window and awakening them gently. Draco slipped from under the covers, sneaking into the kitchen to make breakfast, the scent of bacon and toast enriching her nostrils. She rubbed her eyes as Draco walked into the room with a tray full of bacon, toast, and an omelette accompanied with fresh orange juice for her. 

“This is thoughtful,” she said taking a bite and nodding her approval. “Nice job.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Good morning.”

“You look hungover,” she observed, taking a bite of toast. “Better take some Pepper-Up Potion.”

“I’m on it,” he said with a sip of his tea. “I do have to head out in a bit. We overslept.”

“Go,” she said looking at the clock and standing to fix his tie. “I’ll finish breakfast and clean up. I have a few things I need to do today.”

He let out a sigh, pulling her chin and closing the gap between them for a long, tender kiss, sending her whole body into overdrive. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m nothing but trouble,” she winked, their fingers slowly sliding away from each other for one last look. He smiled, throwing Floo Powder into his fireplace, leaving her alone in his flat, still reminiscing their night with butterflies in her stomach.

***

“You are a sight for sore eyes.”

Rosalind turned to see a tall, strapping man behind her, his silky voice booming through the bookstore. 

“Blaise Zabbini,” she said in greeting. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m quite the intellectual believe it or not,” he said with a lift at the history book under his arm. “What’re you looking for?”

She shrugged. “Something life changing. I haven’t read in ages.”

“In that case try this.” He produced a small, leather bound book from his bag. “It’s about a shepherd boy who travels to Egypt.” She eyed the simple cover. “It’s also about never losing hope.”

“Paulo Coelho? He’s a Muggle author,” she responded in consternation. “I didn’t think you’d read such things.”

“I’m a Pureblood, not a Pureblood elitist.” 

“So you don’t believe all that bullshit from the old folks either?”

“No,” he said shaking his head. “Things changed after the war. Most of the younger generation saw first hand how ugly blood purity is. The older generation seems stuck in their ways. No amount of intellectual banter gets them to budge. They preach how we help each other out but it’s on their terms. I imagine the next few decades will be much different.” He sighed, leaning against a bookshelf. “I even fell in love with a Muggleborn witch once.”

“What happened?”

Blaise’s handsome face fell. “I wanted to propose. We got into a petty argument--I don’t even remember what for--and I accidentally called her a Mudblood.” He locked his tongue between his teeth. “She left me then and there. The thought of using the word hasn’t crossed my mind since then.”

“Wow,” Rosalind said. “At least you changed, right?” 

“I did,” he said softly, eyeing her. “I heard about your suspension.” 

“You and all of London.” She crossed her arms. “This is the longest I’ve gone without being approached.” 

Blaise let out a low chuckle. “Use it to your advantage. Take some time off.”

“And do what?” she laughed. “I’ve never taken a vacation.”

He pointed to _The Alchemist_. “Keep it. I’ve read it loads of times. Let me know what you think.” She thanked him, and he gave her a quick nod before departing. Dr. Najjad had suggested she read something inspiring that would keep her mind going in the right direction. She flipped through the pages, a short quote standing out to her: _“The secret to life, though, is to fall seven times and get up eight times.”_

She had fallen quite a few times in her life, this being at least six or seven, her options to either stay down or forge ahead. She flipped through the pages, leaving the bookstore and wandering the narrow cobblestone street with her nose buried in the story, a slight weight lifting from her shoulders. Upon returning home, an elegant envelope waited for her, flowery writing animating throughout the card:

_You are cordially invited to the wedding celebration of Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger._

**So I have never written smut before and this was my first attempt - it is very different from what I normally write and I had to do some *ahem* research. I may have to re-edit at some point since it’s definitely not my forte. The next chapter should be fun, it will feature Ron and Hermione’s wedding. Thank you for reading! :)**

**Next chapter: Thnks fr th Mmrs**


	37. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All good, mate."

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Thnks fr th Mmrs**

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

The frosty air was beginning to warm ever so slightly, melting away the pain Rosalind had been feeling for years. She saw Dr. Najjad frequently, almost daily if the doctor’s schedule allowed. Therapy was a brutal, eye-opening process of opening old wounds, exploring deep-rooted trauma, and taking a hard look at herself and her flaws. In the early stages she would cry until her nose ran dry, eventually able to sit through a session with less trouble. 

“Why do you want to become a Hit Wizard?” Dr. Najjad asked in her low, soothing voice.

Rosalind shrugged sheepishly. “I thought it was the only thing I was good at so might as well make a career out of it.” When asked how she felt about working at the Ministry after it being a goal for years, she added, “It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.” She glanced around the office, the now familiar scent of the infamous potion enriching her nostrils. “I thought I’d feel more at ease but it’s made me more anxious. I’m like a time bomb and I’ve already gone off a few times.”

The doctor nodded at her slowly, the chain of beads on her glasses dancing against the light. “Maybe it isn’t the right environment for you.”

Her head shot up, eyes bloodshot. Her mouth gaped slightly, her thumbs twiddling in her lap. “I’ve thought that recently too.” She hung her head, taking a deep breath. “There are a lot of reminders of things that I’ve done and I don’t want to snap.” Her fingers pinched her forearm. “But what else would I do? What could I possibly make a career out of?” 

Dr. Najjad’s kind eyes lifted into a smile. “I think we both know the answer to that.” 

***

On a secluded beach tucked into the Irish Sea, throngs of witches and wizards walked down the sandy stone steps, the sea’s breeze ruffling through their hair as they made their way to their seats, the sun gently kissing their skin. Although it was a bit chilly, the sand and surrounding area had been charmed to a comfortable temperature for each guest, each table with simple centerpieces unique to the table’s needs. The rows were assigned similarly for the service. Rosalind was assigned table and row twelve, along with Neville, Luna, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and a blonde woman she had never met before: the singles table. 

“You made it!” a dapper Neville brought Rosalind in for a hug. “You look great!” She thanked him while he was distracted by another familiar face at a nearby row. 

“Hello, pleasure to meet you,” the blonde woman extended her hand, a lovely pair of topaz earrings dangling from her ears. “The name’s Hannah Abbott.” 

“Rosalind,” she replied with a polite handshake. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”

She nodded. “I was a Hufflepuff. We were all in the same year. You’re a--?”  
  
“American, yeah. I work with Ron and Hermione at the Ministry.”

“Interesting,” she sounded fascinated. “Is that how you and Neville know each other?”

“Yeah, he’s a great Auror. He’s taught me a lot.” A wizard squeezed between them to the end of the row, his cologne wafting through them.“He’s a good friend.”

Hannah’s face beamed, her light blue eyes twinkling. “So you’re just friends?”

“Just friends.” She reassured, Luna chiming in, her voice airy. 

“Neville can be quite bashful, and Rosalind here is a bit of a capricious creature.” She removed her star-shaped sunglasses from her forehead, setting them on her lap. “That would be nothing short of disastrous.” 

Rosalind laughed, pointing her thumb at Luna. “Spot on.” Luna smiled, the vegetables on her necklace jingling underneath her dress. 

Hannah smiled brightly, leaning back into her chair as Seamus and Dean sat next to her. Neville eventually made his way back to his seat between them, the Hannah character shooting him a smile he was oblivious to. 

Moments later, the crowd hushed, the quartet in the corner playing a romantic tune, a nervous Ronald Weasley at the forefront of the aisle dressed in a handsome suit. Necks craned to see a beautiful Hermione Granger in a flowing white dress, simple lace detailing the straight, off the shoulder edge, rippling down her arms into her hands holding a bouquet, a shy yet beaming smile on her face. Her hair was braided elegantly and she wore a beautiful tiara on her head, rumored to be a Weasley family heirloom. She walked down the aisle slowly, the hushed whispers of how gorgeous she looked muffled, finally approaching an archway decorated in gold, locking eyes with her future husband. True to their nature, Ron read his short but sweet vows, reminiscing about meeting in childhood and saving her from a troll, while Hermione had a roll of parchment listing the several reasons why she loved him. 

A tear made its way down Rosalind’s cheek as she listened to their vows. Ron and Hermione had endured countless adventures and trials together, and it was clear it brought them closer rather than drive them apart. Although they were opposites they managed to balance each other and continue to grow as a team. Their love was something rare--and eternal.

The wizard between them clapped his hands, announcing them as husband and wife. Golden fireworks erupted above the newlywed’s heads before the remaining fireworks thundered through the crowd, forming the shapes of pixies, fireflies, dragons, and other animals, a dragon breathing fire and raining harmless flames before them. The crowd watched in awe, the brilliant display fading, their cue to take their seats at their tables. 

A dance floor appeared for the young couple, Ron taking his mother’s hand for a dance. Arthur and Hermione joined them, Molly mouthing, “Welcome to the family,” to her. Harry, the best man, said a few words about his best friends, Ginny adding a few of her own. Ron and Hermione beamed at each other as he planted a tender kiss on her forehead. 

The music became lively, bodies beginning to make their way in trepidation. Luna was the first, her head swaying in sync to the music without a care in the world, her arms and hands swinging above her head in the opposite direction of her hips. A Weasley cousin smirked, rolling his shoulders and shimmying in front of her, mirroring her movements. 

Rosalind laughed, enjoying the scene between sips of wine. The majority of her table had left to mingle with the crowd, leaving her alone with Dean Thomas and Hannah. Dean’s dark eyes glanced at her as he swallowed a bacon wrapped date. “How’re you holding up?” he asked casually. “I heard you’re back at the Ministry.”

She shrugged, plopping a grape into her mouth. “It’s a bit weird. People either avoid me or ask too many questions.”

“Two other blokes were suspended too right?”

She nodded. “The older one decided to retire. The other one is a little shaken up still.”

Dean’s face lowered, his voice hardly audible. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

Rosalind shook her head. “Nope.”

“So why’d they suspend you? Makes no sense.”

“Because I allegedly attacked him,” she sighed. “They didn’t know until after their investigation was complete.”  
  
“You were trying to help Angelina, weren’t you?” 

She nodded once more. “He had her wandless and he had a machete. He would’ve killed her.” 

“Blimey,” he said fascinated, Hannah’s ears perking. “What’d you do?”

“I knocked him over with a spell and slowed him down,” she explained calmly. “Then he asked me if I was going to kill him and I said no.”

Dean threw a shot of firewhiskey down his throat. “What a nutter..”

“He was. He killed and tortured loads of people.” She locked her tongue between her teeth, heaving another sigh. “Most of his men are in Azkaban awaiting trial then I’m assuming they’ll be deported. And the cycle of violence continues.” 

Dean opened his mouth for another question before scratching his nose and catching up with Hannah instead. A familiar redhead was sitting at the main table with his gushing fiance, a delicate diamond glittering on her finger. George raised his glass with a smile, sending her a message. _All good, mate._ Rosalind returned his smile, raising her own glass. _Salud._ A wave of comfort flooded through her, his gaze now fixed on Angelina. 

Dean and Hannah continued their conversation, Rosalind diving into the roast dinner before her. Neville had returned, filling her in on his travels and various adventures, and the journal of plants and herbs he kept along the way. 

“--and when I met up with Charlie in Romania we ran into a fellow Hogwarts student at a pub,” he said excitedly. “Rolf Scamander had just arrived--he was there to study dragons at the sanctuary.” He took a bite of roast and swallowed quickly. “He’s a magizoologist and is coming to London soon. He reminds me a bit of Luna actually, they’d probably get along quite well.” He gulped his wine and wiped his mouth. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking so much about myself. How’re you since you’ve been back at work?”

Rosalind smiled. “Don’t be sorry, hearing about your adventures is great,” she laughed, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot. “I’m thinking of quitting actually.”

“Really?” his eyes widened. “Why’s that?”

“I think if I want to better myself emotionally I shouldn’t stay in that environment,” she said in a low voice. “I feel like I’ll explode at any second sometimes and it makes me more anxious.” She sighed, thumbing her wine glass. “Even though this job is something I’ve wanted for years I don’t think it’s good for me. I convinced myself this is all I’m good at so leaving is a bit scary.”

Neville gave her a meek smile. “I’m proud of you.”

Rosalind frowned. “For quitting my job?”

He shook his head. “For doing what’s best for you even though you’re scared of the next step. You’re already loads better than the last time I saw you.” 

Her mouth lifted into a small smile. “Thank you.” 

The music slowed into a waltz which cleared the dance floor slightly. “Let’s go dance,” he said with a bright smile. 

“I have three left feet, Neville.”

“That gives us six left feet,” he laughed. “I’ll teach you.”

“Fine,” she laughed, pointing at him. “But we’re taking another shot first.” She grabbed two shots of firewhiskey from the floating tray near their heads and they cheered, grimacing from the burning liquid in their throats. He dragged her by the elbow, placing a hand above her waist and taking the other into his own.

“Follow my lead,” he instructed as he guided their bodies forward and to his right. “This is the box step.” She looked down at their feet to ensure she avoided his toes. “There you go,” he said after a few moments. “Now let’s turn to the left--”

“I’m going to end up stepping on you--”

“--like this.” He glided them across the floor effortlessly, Rosalind struggling to keep up. 

“Do you have to be good at everything?” she laughed in embarrassment of her stuttering steps. 

Neville’s ears reddened. “I’m pretty lousy at talking to girls, actually.”

“You do just fine with me,” she observed.

“Well yeah, because you’re my friend.” He adjusted her posture to keep them from bumping into another couple. “I struggled a lot with my confidence growing up.”

“What changed?”

“Dunno,” he pondered. “I think once we had the Dumbledore’s Army lessons fifth year and Snape was headmaster seventh year I kinda grew into who I am now. It felt good to stand up for myself and see my full potential.” Rosalind smiled, taking in his words. “Whatever it is that you’re getting into next, I know you’re nervous. But trust me, once you believe in yourself you’ll do great.” 

To her surprise she nodded as they both glanced over to their table, Hannah and Dean laughing over Seamus’ joke. “Speaking of girls, have you really not noticed little miss Hannah making eyes at you all night?”

“M-me?” he sputtered. “Are you sure?”

“She asked me if we’re just friends,” she grinned as his ears flushed again. “And she’s been trying to talk to you all night but someone was being a social pixie.”

“Oh.” His back stiffened as he shot Hannah a strained smile. “I fancied her while we were at Hogwarts but didn’t think she paid me much notice.”

“Well she’s definitely noticing you now,” she laughed. “Go talk to her!”

“I dunno,” he said with a puckered face as the song ceased. Rosalind raised her brow, Neville taking a deep breath and adjusting his tie. “You know what? I’m going to give it a go. She could be my future wife.” 

And he marched off confidently to the beautiful blonde, leaning forward with an arm behind his back to kiss her hand, causing her to blush deeply into a giggle. 

**Hello! Neville is my favorite character in the series so I’m glad I was able to incorporate him into the story. The next chapter is our last chapter which feels odd to say--but I am excited to be truly finished. Thank you for reading!**

**Next chapter: I’ve Got All This Ringing in my Ears but None on my Fingers.**


	38. I've Got All This Ringing in my Ears but None on my Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're my best friend."

**Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.**

**The last (!) chapter.**

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice echoed throughout the stone walls, ricocheting and hitting her squarely in the chest. Her hands were shaking from the nerves while the four pairs of eyes watched her. “I do love working here it’s j-just that--” She held her breath in order to keep herself from stuttering. “I’m not okay.” Her voice was low as she averted their gaze. “I haven’t been okay for a long time.” 

Hermione offered a kind smile. “It’s okay. It’s understandable.” 

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief as Harry, Ron, and Bowen nodded in agreement. “I didn’t realize until I was in the middle of the action again how much it has all affected me. A part of me enjoys it because it’s thrilling but what I experience in the aftermath is a lot to deal with.” She shook her head, pinching the skin on her hands. “As much as I’d love to continue I need some time away to help myself.”

“Have the sessions helped at all?” Hermione asked gently.

“Immensely. I’d be a complete wreck without them.”

Hermione beamed, Bowen leaning forward on the oak desk. “You will be sorely missed Miss Morana, and are welcome back when you are ready should a position be available.”

Rosalind nodded her thanks, the door opening behind her to signal her dismissal. She stepped into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s office for the last time, heading to her desk to pack her belongings.

“Sorry to see you go Morana,” Breckenridge’s booming voice said. 

Rosalind shrugged. “Might not be forever.”

“Either way, you did a hell of a lot for that big case,” she said slapping her on the back. “And I think your next venture is a noble one.”

“Thanks Breck,” she smiled. “I appreciate it.” She packed her few photographs and trinkets into a box, slugging into the elevator. It felt odd yet liberating to be leaving her post. Odd because she spent years fantasizing about becoming a Hit Wizard, but liberating because she now had full control of her life. The golden grilles slid open, a pale, familiar face greeting her. 

“I’m going to be miserable without you, you know.”

“You managed your entire life before you met me, did you not?”

Draco grinned, taking the box from her hands. “Who knows how much longer I’ll be here anyhow.”

“Oh yeah?” she said in surprise. “What’re you thinking of doing?”

He shrugged. “Dunno yet. I’ve never fit in here anyways. I don’t want to rely on my family’s money. Blaise has a few ideas brewing so we’ll see what he says.”

They walked to her apartment, enjoying the beautiful summer day. There was not a cloud in the sky, several children wandering about with their toys and make-believe games. A warm breeze swept the flowers from the ground and around their ankles, fully bloomed from spring. The cobblestone street ended, leading to the doorway of her small flat. She opened the door for Draco, clouds of dust greeting them. It was near empty save for a few arbitrary objects, all her belongings either sold or at Daphne’s. 

Draco set the box on the counter, pulling her into an embrace, his back against a wall. His head rested on top of her head as she listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He kissed her forehead and used both hands to lift her face, their eyes locking for a moment before their lips met. He kissed her tenderly, his fingers rustling the curls on the back of her head. She punctured the kiss with a sharp inhale, opening her mouth so he could deepen the kiss. He pulled away to peer into her eyes as he traced her cheek with his fingertips.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said softly, their breath intertwining.

She smiled, her heart fluttering and stomach in knots, her insides burning from his touch. “I’m going to miss you too.” She glanced at the floor before meeting his gaze again. “My relationship with my sister is the most important thing in the world to me. Her and I need to work on that together before I can do other things in my life.”

His stormy eyes flickered. “I know.” 

She wrapped her arms around him, a small square object in his pocket poking her rib. She inhaled his familiar peppermint scent, a hundred memories flooding through her. She leaned her head all the way back, giving him a gentle kiss. “See you in an hour?”

“Make it an hour and a half,” he said checking his watch. “Blaise is in love with his voice so it’ll be a longer meeting than anticipated.”

Rosalind laughed. “As long as you don’t miss it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smiled, making her way to the fireplace, their hands still entwined as they gave each other another long, last look. He grinned as she dropped her hand, Disapparating.

***

“My love,” Daphne hugged her tightly, drawing her into her home. “I am so excited for what’s to come.” She beamed, leading to the table where the house elves had tea and biscuits ready. “Everything has been finalized with the lawyers. We’re all set to start once you’re back.”

“Great,” Rosalind smiled, taking a seat. With the help of Daphne’s contacts and persuasiveness, they were opening a shelter and resource center for trauma victims. They had worked tirelessly together and with other witches to develop enchanted bracelets. If they were unable to leave their situation, their bracelet notified them and the authorities and Summoned them immediately for transport. The bracelet was invisible to everyone but the wearer and gave an exact location when the wearer was in trouble. Once at the facility, professionals would speak to the victims and get them to St. Mungo’s, file the necessary paperwork to press charges, and provide shelter, food, and water along with resources to help them get back on their feet. The building was Unplottable, and open around the clock. The bracelets were free of charge and located in near every shop within fifty kilometers, placed in small baskets at registers, stores, outside of buildings, and only visible to those who need them but are too afraid to seek help. Daphne would run the day to day operations while Rosalind would travel to the victims and transport them to their facility. 

“Does Emmy know about the trip or is it a surprise?” She sipped her tea, setting her cup gently on the oak table.

“She thinks we’re going to be gone for a week. I haven’t told her we’ll be gone all summer or that you and Ares will be joining us for a few days.”

“How grand,” Daphne smiled, handing her a roll of parchment. “Those are all of our recommendations. They’re categorized by the hotels you are staying at. Do not forget to owl us,” she said as Ares climbed onto her lap, sporting a beret and planting a wet kiss on his mother’s cheek. 

“You know I won’t,” she said laughing at the little boy attempting to touch his mother’s dangling earrings, much to her dismay. She tucked the parchment into her bag. “Thank you, Daphne.”  
  
“What for?” she asked, blowing a raspberry at her son.

“For allowing me to do this with you. And being a great friend.”

Her head cocked to the side. “I always knew this was the right choice for you.” 

The floorboards outside the room creaked, a pair of long, slender legs outside the door strutting by them, the piercing blue eyes meeting Rosalind’s, her mouth curling wordlessly. 

“Don’t mind her,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”

“Her bite wasn’t what I was thinking about,” she laughed dryly.

“You have nothing to worry about.” She placed her hand on her knee reassuringly. 

Rosalind shrugged, the clock chiming. “I better get going. I’ll see you in a month, right?” She leaned down to Ares’ height, tickling him. “See you later Mr. Ares!” she said as he giggled, his beret falling to the floor.

“Later Rosie-Linda!” he kissed her cheek and waved, Daphne escorting her to the door.

“We’ll be reunited in Paris mon amie,” she waved, the pair blowing her kisses _. “Au revoir!”_

***

The steam from the engine of the Hogwarts Express blared into her ears, a mass of eager parents awaiting the arrival of their children. Rosalind tread carefully through the crowd with a bag of luggage, spotting a brooding Draco leaning against a wall, his hand fingering something in his pocket. His face lit up upon seeing her, now sporting a smile.

“Have you seen her?” he asked, placing his hand on the small of her back as they tried not to shove the other parents towards the end of the platform. 

“No,” she shook her head. “She’s always one of the last to come out. She probably got distracted by something she found in one of the compartments.” 

They stopped outside the last compartment, a pack of first and second years hobbling out. Second to last of the group was a little witch, struggling to heave her trunk and baggage from the stairs, her glasses and hair askew. Draco grabbed the handle effortlessly as she threw her arms around her big sister. 

“Sissy!” she cried, pulling out a round object. “Look what I found on the train!” 

Rosalind laughed, rolling her eyes as the clear smoke inside the object turned crimson. “A Remembral? What did you forget?”

“Oh,” she scrunched her nose. “I think I forgot my spare glasses.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said rubbing the top of her head. “Are you ready for our trip?”

Emma nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Rosalind said as they made their way across to the other platforms. “We’ll be gone for most of the summer.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?” An old wizard bumped into her so Rosalind grabbed her so she’d walk in front of them. Emma looked up at Draco. “Are you coming with us too?”

Draco smiled with a shake of his head. “No boys allowed. But I may or may not surprise you at the end of the trip.”

“Can you bring me some chocolate frogs? I only need one more card to complete my collection--”

“Emmy,” Rosalind shot her a stern look as Draco laughed. 

“Of course, which do you need?”

“Dzou Yen,” she replied matter-of-factly. “A Chinese alchemist.” 

“You got it,” he grinned. They approached their subway station, the doors screeching open and a flood of Muggles shoving their way in and out. Emma took the remaining seat, Rosalind and Draco standing and clutching a post. She grinned observing the curiosity on his face. 

“You’ve never been on one of these before have you?” 

“Never.” A middle-aged man was nodding off in the corner, a pair of young kids attempting to throw popcorn into his mouth, instead hitting him square on the nose.

The subway took them to Bank Station, where they caught another train to London City Airport. Draco looked like a fish out of water trying to decipher the stations and read the maps, restraining himself from using magic.

“I don’t know how the Muggles do it,” he said as they stepped foot into the airport, bodies rushing to their destinations with small objects against one of their ears. “Why are they talking to themselves?”

“Those are cell phones,” Rosalind explained, her and Emma laughing. “A mobile phone so they can call anyone from nearly anywhere. They even have cameras now and they’re being developed to have more features such as email and wireless internet.”

Draco raised his brow. “Internet? Muggles developed all of this?” 

Rosalind shook her head in amusement. “You have much to learn, young dragon.” She pulled a few bills from her wallet, handing them to Emma who wanted a snack at the cafe before their flight, Draco still glancing around in piqued curiosity. She rubbed his arm, his gaze meeting hers. He unpocketed a hand, touching the side of her face and stared into her eyes, his heart beating rapidly. She placed her hand on his chest, pulling away upon hearing her sister’s voice. 

“Don’t go falling in love with Astoria while I’m gone,” she teased.

He smirked, taking a step back while his arms dropped to his side. “We’ll see how long you’re gone.”

She grinned, their eyes meeting for the last time, her heart slowing in her chest before she caught up to Emma who had teas for the both of them. “Where’s our first stop?” she asked excitedly. 

“Well there is lots of history there including a leaning tower, ancient ruins, and lots of pizza and pasta,” she said as Emma jumped on her toes, a few drops of tea spilling on her pants. 

“Pizza! We’re going to Italy!” She beamed, wrapping an arm around her sister. They walked with their arms linked to their gate, Emma bouncing in her chair until it was time to board the plane. She let her have the window seat while she took the middle, a knot forming in her throat. The last time they were at the airport was when they had arrived in London. She was scared, lonely, and broke, unsure where they would be the next day. It felt like a lifetime ago that they lived in the states surrounded by the love of their parents. 

“Sissy,” Emma’s small voice interrupted her thoughts. “Even though Mami and Papi aren’t here anymore I’m glad I still have you.”

Rosalind sniffed, tears now flowing down her cheeks. “You’ll always have me,” she said grasping her hand. 

Emma smiled, the bags under her eyes reddening as they did when she was about to cry. “I know.” She hiccuped, the plane beginning to move around the runway. “You’re my best friend and I love you.”

Rosalind wrapped her arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “I love you too.”

The sisters held each other in silence, the plane now in the sky, their world shrinking below them. The English scenery faded into Italian homes peppering the landscape, ancient buildings still erect for their history to be unfolded. The screeching tires against pavement bumped them into their landing, their pilot speaking in perfect Italian.

_“Benvenuti in Italia.”_

**It feels bittersweet to be finished. This to me felt like the best ending--Emma is Rosalind’s only surviving relative, and she needs to be her first priority. I want to thank anyone who’s stuck around to read the whole thing, I know Rosalind can be quite *a lot* at times. She’s not meant to be necessarily likable—which I know is polarizing. I am currently writing a part two to Rosalind’s story which takes place years later titled “Falling Away From You.” I hope to see you there!**


End file.
